Beautiful Redux
by Arhani 'Hanny' Daforcena
Summary: What happens when Joseph Allen's role is filled by a woman, and she's inserted as a blatant honeypot, sent to obtain Intel straight from Makarov? Would he fall into the trap, or would he make use of her in other ways? Somewhat AU-ish. Makarov OC.
1. Prologue

She had been doing this for more than a year now… She had been the only American able to infiltrate Makarov's inner circle, and so far, she was able to survive. But she knew that she could not do this any longer, although it was for her country and the rest of the world. If she had to place a bullet into an innocent victim's system again, she knew that she would break for sure.

* * *

"_You're the only one we can send into the lion's den," Lieutenant-General Shepherd once told her. She was only an Army Ranger then, based in Fire-Base Phoenix in Afghanistan. She had entered the prima-donna squad, the Task Force 141 based on her performance alone, but also the fact that she once took a gap-year in Russia, and was able to speak Russian. "You're to send every single bit of information back to us, earn his trust in every way possible." From the way he emphasized his last phrase, she knew what he was trying to tell her. _

_She had been oblivious then. She did not believe that her own superior would want her to bare her very body to the enemy, and let him take what he wanted, if and when he wished. "Sir, I can't just open my legs for that monster!" she retorted, knowing very well that the older man before her could end her career immediately. "Surely there's another way…"_

"_Makarov is a jaded, guarded soul," Shepherd replied, not even taking her apparent apprehension into account. "He trusts no one. I'm not gonna lie to you, dearie, you hafta make him fall for you, so that he trusts you. That's why you're the only woman for the job."

* * *

_

A stray tear fell from her sapphire eyes when she heard on the news in his well-disguised, but posh apartment in Moscow. A documentary had been made about him and his operations so far. The analysts in the CIA and the MI6 were not even able to estimate the sheer value of drugs, weapons, and humans that he had trafficked the previous year, or even the people that he had killed in Africa, South America and even Russia herself…

"What is it?" he asked her, wiping the tear off her cheeks with his thumb. In that moment, his heterochromic eyes had been too much for her to bear, she wanted to do everything in her power to put an end to him, to kill him at that very moment… But her orders were to gain his trust. She could not go against them no matter what.

"Nothing…" she replied, forcing a smile. "Something got into my eye…"

At those words, he smiled, and pulled her close to him, perching her head upon his shoulder as he kissed her forehead. "I will have to leave in an hour," he told her. "I have a business deal that will bring us very close to our goal."

"What drug-lord can give you so much?" she asked him, judging by the people he had been dealing with so far.

"You'll see," he told her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You'll see."

* * *

HAN: Here it is. A redux of my previous fic: Beautiful, where I take Joseph Allen's character and turn her into a woman sent to Makarov's side. I know that many people hate Anya/Maria Allen so much as they hate Ryuka from my "The Red Dragon", but I hate it more because of the holes in it. I utterly wrote it based on feeling, without any planning. Character-wise, I'll try to differentiate Anya from Ryuka, but the aim of this fic remains the same: to show you what happens if Makarov fell in love with a woman, and the lengths he will go to pursue that love, even if he knows that the woman he loves is the enemy.

I hope that you will enjoy this, but I will not update daily as I have in previous times. Thanks for reading!

P.S: For some of you who think you saw this exact same chapter a few days ago, yes, it is the same one. I took it down a almost immediately after following some... thoughts. I decided to put it up again after some encouragement from my friends. Thanks dears, I love you guys!


	2. The Beginning

"So, you are the one Dimitri told me about," he said to the newcomer. She was in the very center of his living-room, standing at full height in a sensible business-suit, armed with nothing but a generic side-arm. But yet, there was an air of purpose about her, telling him, and those around her with him, that she was meant to be there, that she would not accept anything less than his acceptance of her being there.

There was no doubt that this woman could be Russian, she had the fair, golden hair and blue eyes so common of the Slavic races. But her English, it had a distinctive American twang to it, and it could not be due to the "gap year" that she had spent in the United States. Her command of both languages was impeccable, that was what he had to give it to her, and that was what he needed, other than the fact that she was proven to be one of the best in the field.

"You were expecting a man, weren't you?" she asked him, challenging his heterochromic gaze with her own eyes. Those words came with a bit of hurt, but a lot more bite. It came with the experience knowing that she had to put in four time the effort than the men in equal station to her to produce twice the results. It was the cost, of course, whenever a woman entered a man's world. He could tell that she survived all of this.

His lips turned into a little smile, and he walked towards her. She was young, most probably, no more a spring chicken, but already entering the prime of womanhood. There were the cares of years in her eyes, and of course, the guilt and grief of a seasoned soldier. "You came highly recommended," he told her, circling her like a vulture, his eyes never leaving hers. "So naturally…"

She did not give him even the chance to speak. "All men are sexist bigots," she replied, her words meant to be nothing more than a compliant. "They can't take the fact that a girl can do what they do, much less me better at them."

"And my dear, what makes you think that you can perform much better than my men?" he asked her, cocking an eyebrow high into the air. "You have iron in your words, but can you put those words into action, it is another story. However, I have decided that you might still have use for me. Dimitri told me that you have excellent aim."

At those very words, she readied her side-arm and shot at a random spot on the floor. Makarov told Anatoly to inspect it, and the latter held up a disintegrated cockroach before him. "That's good enough for me, Makarov," Anatoly said with a wide smirk, and Makarov nodded before retiring into his room. She just stood there, unknowing of what to do and seemed a little angered. The men around her broke into a controlled bout of laughter. "Anya, relax," Anatoly told her. "That means he approves of you. Welcome to our little family."

* * *

"_Makarov doesn't easily trust those around him," _

"_The easy part's getting in, but the hard part is staying there."

* * *

_

The words of her friends in the 141 sounded in her mind, as well as that of her superior, Shepherd's. All of them reminded her of what she was supposed to do, and she knew that there was more than acting neutral when she knew that she was to continue working by Makarov's side.

"Come on," Anatoly added, helping her carry the bags that she had brought with her. "I'll show you to your room."

Her room was nothing to be talked about. Four walls, a bed, and a vanity. There was nothing special, but when she opened the cupboard, she was shocked to find various kinds of outfits, from Kevlar armor to the slinkiest of gowns, all made to her size. "He really was expecting me, wasn't he?" She asked Anatoly, taking each and every outfit out of the cupboard and placing them back.

"Makarov is a complex person, I'll give you that," the right-hand of Makarov told her. "No one knows what goes on in his mind, but it is a practical gift. You never know when you'll need any of… these," he added, looking with interest when she was trying on the pair of red pumps that was at the foot of her cupboard. "Oh, and you are to dine with Makarov eight o clock tonight. Make sure you look presentable."

And by presentable, Anatoly meant that she had to wear the gown in her cupboard, as he had indicated by taking it out of the hanger with such practiced eased. They may be terrorists, but they were highly cultured as well. How… quaint. "Thanks," she nodded, and began to get ready. It was already fifteen minutes to seven, and she knew that she had to be quick if she wanted to be on time. She had a feeling that Makarov would have a certain disdain for tardiness.

* * *

Dinner was an opulent affair. Wagyu beef from Japan, the finest wines from Bordeaux, caviar from the Caspian Sea… Throughout dinner, Makarov was silent, and he knew that she was becoming more and more uneasy by the second. "Tell me about your childhood," he said to her, wiping his mouth after a sip of wine. "How did you get into the armed forces?"

"I was a normal girl, going into University, when I felt as if a normal life cannot give me what I want," she answered.

* * *

_She had graduated with her Arts degree with a major in linguistics when she decided to join the US armed forces, to see the world from the frontlines, from a point of view where she had never seen before, and by the time she had made it into the Army Rangers, she knew that there was no going back, especially when the state of the Middle East was so chaotic. _

"_What the hell is a girl doing here?" the Rangers had asked the very first day she landed at Fire Base Phoenix, it was the start of a hard life for her, but she knew that it would be worth it.

* * *

_

Makarov took her answer and nodded, as though he was pleased to hear it. "Right indeed," he replied, and looked across the table onto her. "Dimitri told me that you were from the Spetsnaz, and that you are a sniper and that you can speak all of the United Nations official languages," he told her, "Naturally, I just had to see for myself if what he and your papers claim to be true."

* * *

"_Makarov had an affiliation with the Russian Spetsnaz," Shepherd told her before she set out to Russia. "We have good cause to think that he was one of them before Vorshevsky kicked him out of the 'inner circle' Imran Zakhaev had with him. One thing is for sure though; Makarov can never go against the wishes of dead men. One of our informants staged his death before Makarov, and told him that he was sending you to him, that's why you can get so close to him so fast."_

_The informant was one Dimitri Batkin, a man who had served in the Russian Spetsnaz along with Makarov a long time ago. The 141 had tracked down the man, and did not even need torture to reveal every single one of Makarov's current designs. All he wanted was a new life in America and of course, a fat bank account to go along with it. She had been with the team who acquired him, and he had told them personally that no man could go closer to Makarov than a woman would be able to. _

"_And we are placing all our bets on one guy's words?" she asked Shepherd. "We don't even know if he's lying, sir!"_

_Shepherd gave a light chuckle, and placed a hand upon her shoulder. "That guy was afraid enough of Makarov that only death could cover his tracks. Sure, he'll find out that it was all a set-up, but I intend for him to find that out when you place him under custody, is that understood? We already have your papers in the Spetsnaz, if that's what you're asking."

* * *

_

She smiled at him, and stirred her soup lightly. "And did you see what you like, sir?" she asked him, eyeing him with great interest. He was looking at her as though one looks at a well-known and loved piece of art, not one bit critical and questioning.

"Quite a bit," he answered rather matter-of-factly. "I would assume that someone with your… abilities, you have been a great commodity to your squad. Dimitri told me before he passed that you encountered this… elite squad of NATO soldiers who has been dogging our footsteps for quite a while now. How did you find them?"

* * *

_The Task Force 141 was more than just a group of randomly selected elite soldiers, they were her brothers. A soldier would drift from unit to unit until they found their "home" and stuck to it, and she was lucky that she had found it only on her second try. Of course, she had got off into a bumpy start with them, just because of her sex, but when she proved to them that she could perform just as well as any of them in her fourth week in the 141, they had finally welcomed her with open arms. _

_It took her four weeks of hellish training, and a record of 20 seconds running the training course back at Firebase Phoenix. The record of 18 seconds, regarded as the benchmark for human achievement, had been set by the Captain and his Lieutenant. _

"_You've done well, lassie," Captain MacTavish told her with a smile the very moment she reached the red line that marked the end of the course. Even her former squadmates in the Army Rangers were surprised. "Welcome to the 141."_

_It was the second year of the Task Force 141's formation when she had joined. Why did it seem so, so long ago, when it had only been nothing but a year ago?_

"_Hey, I heard that you got the mole job," Lieutenant Simon Riley said to her just after Shepherd had briefed her upon her assignment. "It's gonna be tough but I know that you'll pull through."_

_She looked up at Ghost, the name that Riley had preferred to use, seeing only his balaclava and his sunglasses. "And what makes you think that?" she asked him, raising a delicate feminine eyebrow at him. True, his rank was higher than hers, especially as the second in command in the field right after MacTavish, but within the 141, there was no true hierarchy of the military, only people they had fought and survived with through countless numbers of bloody operations. _

"_Well, no one handles snipers like you do, apart from the Captain," Ghost said as though he was ticking off items in a list he had created in his head. "You speak a total of five languages including Russian, and, you're so good an actress you can actually fool the doctors to let you out of bed."

* * *

_

"They are a formidable enemy," she answered Makarov. "They will never stop until they accomplish their goals, never flinching despite the challenges before them. It was an honor… to have fought them, sir." She had to word her sentences carefully from now on if she was to avoid Makarov's suspicions. "I would like to avenge our brothers that have died fighting them."

At those words, Makarov took her hand in his and kissed the ridge of her knuckles. "Your time will come, my dear," he promised her. "You are still young, and there is much to do. I believe that with the rate that those rats are advancing upon us, it would not be long until that day is upon you."

In her heart, she prayed for that day to be delayed for as long as possible. Although only MacTavish and Ghost knew of her current assignment, she did not know what she would do if she was forced to actually kill members of the 141 right before Makarov and their eyes… She could not even imagine what kind of effects such a deed would have upon her.

The ride back to Makarov's apartment had been a silent one. None of them talked at all for some unknown reason, and she hoped that he attributed her silence as something due to the pain of losing her brothers in arms. It was common among soldiers, death and loss, and he must have had a fair share of that as well.

* * *

By the time they set foot into the beautiful, but Spartan apartment that was Makarov's residence, it seemed that the rest of Makarov's men had gone out, including Anatoly. They were quite alone there, and she did nothing but walk towards the balcony through the glass doors for some fresh air. He joined her seconds later. "They have their own apartment not far from here," he told her. "I… do not trust them with a beautiful woman."

She did not know the meaning behind those words, but she received it as a compliment. "Thank you," she whispered, looking at him with a puzzled expression. Living with him also had his disadvantages, he could easily monitor each and every move that she would make, and that made her job well, more difficult than she thought it already was.

"You're welcome," he told her. During situations like this, it would be appropriate if he would kiss her, any kiss would do, and they would retire to their rooms, but nothing of the sort came. "I will see you in the morning. We will have a great day ahead of us." She nodded, and walked towards the room that he had allocated for her. A thought ran through his mind, and he called back towards her. "Forgive me, but I did not seem to have caught your name, my dear."

She smiled. And in that smile, he only noticed the upwards turn of her lips, but not their meaning. It was a cross between one of seduction and one just naturally there without any reason. "It's Anya, sir," she told him before turning back towards her room. "Only Anya… I'm an orphan."

"Anya…" he repeated her name, feeling a certain tingle up his spine. It was strange for him to feel this way, for it was such a generic name, but still, those blue eyes lit up in such a manner when she told him her name… She bade him goodnight one last time and closed the door of her room softly, leaving him to contemplate his latest and first and only female agent.


	3. The Little Cracks

His eyes were constantly upon her, those eyes, one of green, and the other of blue. Everywhere she went, she could feel him, following her with his gaze, watching her as a hawk would watch the prey it was stalking high in the skies. It took her three weeks to actually summon the courage to send information back to the 141, and that alone was a nerve-wrecking experience, and the information that she had was nothing of importance at all…

She had hoped that it was enough for the 141.

* * *

"Take it easy," MacTavish told her that day. He had personally come to accept her information, and all she told him was that Makarov was staying in a beautifully posh neighborhood in the heart of Moscow's highly expensive and prestigious financial district, and that he had cameras all over the place, especially her room, to watch her every move. "It'll be alright, Anya."

They were in a park at the outskirts of Moscow, she had told Makarov that she had received some information about her parents, and at the word: parents, there seemed to be a change in the hardness of his eyes. He had given her a full day for herself, just for this purpose. However, she knew that it was for without a doubt that he would have his men following her, but that feeling of his eyes all around her was not there at all…

"You don't know that, 'Tavish," she told the Captain, placing her head in her hands. "He watches my every move, he thinks that everyone wants to kill him. He washes his own dishes and clothes, cleans his own room because he's paranoid over any possibility that someone might kill him. No one, not even those who served with him in the Russian army has ever been into his room!"

MacTavish sighed, and brought his hand onto hers reassuringly. "You see, you told me that Makarov doesn't trust anyone." Being a mole was not an easy job, not even for one of the most able snipers in the business. And the worse thing was that Anya was sent there because she was the only woman accessible to them. It was an unfair deal from day one. But she had taken that job, because she knew that she had to. "It's a great start."

"Thanks," she said, and looked at MacTavish. This man was the first man she had laid eyes on the very moment she had joined the 141. It had been a new organization then. When Shepherd was still gathering the ones who were deemed the "best" soldiers, first from the NATO countries, and then from the rest of the world… She was a US soldier, a born patriot, and already under his command as an Army Ranger. That was why she was there. She knew the conflict in MacTavish's eyes. "Hey, don't look so sad. I know Shepherd. I've known him ever since I was a Ranger. He doesn't give a damn about what happens to us out here in the field, and more importantly, he takes us and uses us, squeezes us into oblivion to make sure that everything is alright for the rest of the world."

She could not be more right about Shepherd, MacTavish had to hand her that. "You'll do fine," he told her. "You can see everything clearer than anyone does, you'll be back into the field with us in no time."

In no time… Those three words went into her ear, and she knew that they would be the words that would make her stay beside Makarov, so that the boys could do what they did best. "Captain, we probably shouldn't meet for much longer. In three weeks, I will have something else for you, and, please, don't come here the next time," she told him. He raised an eyebrow and she chuckled. "I can't have you risking your neck for me, 'Tavish. You don't know how much you mean to the boys and I."

MacTavish looked at her, and smiled. "I'll try," he promised her, and started to walk away from the park bench. "Try to keep it together. We'll be watching over you."

"Thanks," she said, and remained upon the bench. She knew why MacTavish left. A black BMW pulled up all near her, and to her surprise, Makarov himself came out of the car. She had never seen that car in his garage at all. "Sir… I never thought that you would come…"

Makarov said nothing, but from his expression, she knew it that he wanted her to get into the car. She nodded, and got into the front passenger seat next to him. They were driving back to his apartment, as she noted by the change of scenery. "Who was that man you were talking to?" he asked her suddenly, speaking in English all of a sudden.

What was he trying to do? Was he testing her, to see if her claims were true? She knew that she was in court right now. She had to play according to his rules. "He was a friend of mine in the orphanage we grew up in," she answered in the same language. "His girlfriend works there now… He told me that she found my parents, but… they're in America right now." She had to make sure that she was pressing the right buttons. A tear fell from her sapphire eyes, and she combed her hair with her fingers. "They left when the Soviet Union was resolved, before that… they left me in that orphanage because… they could not afford it if I went with them…" By the time she looked at him, her beautiful face was streaked with tears and she hoped that something would go "ding" in his system. "Why did they leave me for another country?"

He gave her a tissue and she wiped her face with it. "Forgive me," she told him. "I did not mean to be this… weak." Strength was what he valued, and it was strength that he had. With her sapphire eyes she looked at him and she tried to find what was going in his mind. She could not see a single thing.

The car pulled to a stop, and Makarov sighed. "I had a beautiful family," he told her. "My father died before I was born, but I was raised by my mother, along with my sister and brothers. We weren't rich, but we had each other… until…" He did not continue, and she did not press the matter on. "Let's just say that I lost everything in one night, and I only had the boys around me."

So, he lost his family. Perhaps that was why he had so much… bitterness towards the world. "Maybe we've lost everything that we could have had because we can gain something else in the future…" she told him. And those words, for one second, caused him to look at her, and nod.

"Those are wise words," he told her, and started the car again.

That was the first time she had seen signs that Makarov had actually held something inside his heart. That was the first time when she began to see that he was a man who lived for reasons more than bloodshed and terror across the world. The first time she saw that he had a life far beyond the life of a terrorist, a man who causes fear into the hearts of others to achieve his goals.

* * *

The second time came during the winter. Her sapphire eyes had fallen upon the gravestone that marked the graves of the infamous Zakhaev family. Imran Zakhaev, and his son, Viktor. They had died a few years ago during the second Russian Civil War. They had died defending the ideals of the Ultranationalist party, and they had died, murdered by a joint task force of the British SAS and the United States Marine Corps. She knew it to be the day the US and the UK winning only a short victory against the Ultranationalists, winning only a small war, but ending with the victory of the Ultranationalists.

Makarov laid a bouquet of flowers onto the graves of the Zakhaevs, his face hidden from everyone in the world. He was wearing heavy and dark sunglasses. No one could see his face, but she knew that the grief that he was feeling was true, everyone did, but they pretended not to take notice at all.

"_You'll have to do everything to gain his trust,_ Shepherd's voice rang in her head, and she took a deep breath. She knew that she had to do it no matter what. Thus, she placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it slightly. He did not move at first, no, he did not move at all, but he did not react negatively to her. A few minutes passed, and he removed one hand from his face and grasped her hand that had been holding him.

"He was like a father to me," he told her. "He was like a father to me, and Viktor like a little brother to me. If they had lived, all of this would still be theirs…" She knew that he had championed Imran Zakhaev that he was even once called the "Shadow of Zakhaev", but she did not know that his connection to Zakhaev was so deep.

His men knew the story all too well. They had lived throughout that story. She was too young to even know its beginning in complete and utter detail. "Imran Zakhaev gave Makarov, and us, another chance," Kiril told her. "The US forced the Russian Federation to charge us with crimes against human rights, but instead, we chose to be discharged. No one wanted to give us a second chance, except Zakhaev…"

Anya nodded. She knew the stories that followed that one. Zakhaev saw Makarov for his talents, and built up the monster that was the Shadow of Zakhaev, a former soldier that mastered the Underworld so that they could source weapons for the war that they would raise against the capitalist Russia and the rest of the world.

MacTavish had been the one who killed Imran Zakhaev, and she knew that Makarov did not have a clue about it. It was the very fact that MacTavish was still there, leading the 141 that he does not know the real identity of who killed Imran Zakhaev that the 141 could even exist at the first place. She knew that she had to guard this secret, of what used to be a plain, but often unspoken truth, and turn it into the greatest secret that she ever had to keep.

"You will have your chance," she told him, when he stood up, her hand still in his. "Makarov, sir, one day, for sure that we would be able to get the vengeance you so deserve…"

Makarov took off his sunglasses, revealing his reddened heterochromic eyes. His grief was still there, and her words could not have meant anything. He would have heard those words a long, long time ago, for many, many times across the years. Her sapphire eyes brought a different feel to those words, and made them to be more genuine to him than the words that the others had said.

The day was cold, and the sun was fading soon beneath the mountains not far from them. "Come," Makarov said to all of them. "We must leave now, there is much to do, and we must not disturb Zakhaev and his son until next year." Turning towards Anya, he said, "Thank you, Anya. Those words are much appreciated."

She nodded, and smiled as well. "You're welcome," she replied. She really thought that she was taking one step forward with Makarov, progress that she had tried so hard to make. She waited until the rest of the men around them had left for the luxury MPV that they had came in, and told him, "I just want you to know that all of us are here for you."

"Anya, you are young," Makarov told her. "I was once an idealist like you area, I once had the hope in my heart that you carry in yours. But one day, you will know that sometimes, everything you fought for may or may not come true." Those words were words that a teacher would have said to a student, but there was a deep harshness in his eyes that she knew was even more severe than him in his usual moods. "I would suggest that you would only speak when you are spoken to, my dear, from this day forward."

* * *

HAN: Honestly, I don't really know where this story will take us. This thing just writes itself, you know? I would think that in the end, it would end the same way as the previous version, but the way to that point would be either the same, except that it's longer, or, a totally different perspective. ^.^ But I hope that you would enjoy the ride, and remember that all of us should be open to the different interpretations of what this fandom is to each and every one of us. See ya!


	4. The Confusion

"Anya is well asleep," Viktor told Makarov, walking towards his seat aboard the plane. The two of them, Anya, Anatoly, Lev and Kiril were heading to Malaysia to inspect a "shipment" of incoming Indonesian cargo, ranging from exotic beauties and locally-made narcotics in return for armaments from Brazil, supplied by Alexandro Rojas (as usual). They would stop over at Singapore for about an hour, and head to the capital city of Kuala Lumpur after that.

Their cargo, this time, would come in the once-famous Port Klang, and it would be where the young newcomer would be tested not only on her skills, but also, on her quality, in terms of being the right girl for the job. For the past three months, Anya had been following them wherever they went, and so far, she had done nothing to rouse any of their suspicions. Unbeknownst to her, he had charged his men to run a thorough background check on her, and they did not find anything incriminating at all. She was exactly as how she had presented herself, an orphan who had earned his old friend Dimitri's favor during her time in the Spetsnaz. The only thing that he did not like about her was that she had been to the United States for her tertiary education, but that was already quite common for young Russians of this day.

And that was what made him even more… suspicious of her. Those sapphire eyes held only the iron will for a purpose that he could never fathom, and there was that smile upon her face that made her even more complicated in his mind. He had once prided himself in being the best judge of character, but with Anya… he could not judge a thing. Not a thing at all.

"What do you think of her, Viktor?" Makarov asked his old friend, looking at the silhouette of Anya's arm upon the armrest. There was certainly... something about her, a grace that he had never seen before. The way she had acted around him, and around them already highlighted that she had been a highly-trained soldier, and even then, were they not all the same?

Viktor actually furrowed his brows when he pondered the question that Makarov had asked. "She's a good girl," he answered rather truthfully. "I've actually seen her shoot more than a few rounds, and I'll tell you that she has a talent for this thing." Of course, Makarov knew that she was nothing less than that. "Makarov, you know that this girl wants nothing more than to help you. Why can't you give her a chance?"

"Is it just like that?" came Makarov's reply. He knew that it had been Dimitri's dying wish that she be sent to him, but he still did not know what for, as he was completely surrounded by able-handed men who already knew him well enough. He did not know what to make of the situation that she had posed for him at all, a new recruit with boundless promise, whom he could not decipher at all.

"You should get to know her," Viktor said bluntly. "She also makes great pasta if you ask her nicely."

* * *

Cpt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Submarine Base – Location: Sembawang Wharves - Singapore

Their submarine was docked in Singapore, but the place of their operation would be right across the border, in hearty Malaysia, the older sibling of Singapore. They had received information regarding yet another one of Makarov's operations, and MacTavish knew that Shepherd was keen to get Makarov this time, and judging by the information that Anya had leaked back to them, he was sure that they would be able catch the Russian terrorist-cum-Underworld mogul red handed.

"Boys, this time the operation is easy. We get it, find Makarov's ship and take everything they have, including our girl," Shepherd told those involved with the operation in the briefing room. There were pictures of the ship titled Cinta Negara, filled with massive amounts of containers heading to Port Klang. There were some of them who were new to the 141 and did not know who Anya was, and thus, Shepherd put up a picture of her for them to see. "Corporal Maria Allen, call-sign 'Anya' is the only girl in the Task Force 141, and is one of our best snipers. We've planted her right beside Makarov to provide us with the necessary Intel. And we couldn't have even discovered anything about Makarov this time without her help."

Shepherd did not say anything more about Anya, but instead focused on their current mission. They were supposed to be working with the local police force, but it seemed that what the Malaysians would be the ones observing them instead. The Malaysian government was so corrupt that it was not worth any mention. There would be a high certainty that Makarov already paid off Customs to let his shipment pass.

"Sir, what about the rules of engagement?" Ghost asked after discerning the numbers of local policemen that were going to be "involved" in this mission.

Shepherd did not even take a second to ponder his answer. "Take down anyone with Makarov." It was simple, short and to the point. After all, out of Russia, what were Makarov and his cohorts but terrorists and Underworld scumbags? "If there are no more questions, you boys better get started. The ship arrives at Port Klang at 0600 hours tomorrow, and it's a four hour drive from Singapore to Klang."

"What about Anya?" Meat asked MacTavish when Shepherd left the briefing room. "She'll have to fire at us, 'Tavish…"

The possibility of a 141 soldier killing another in the line of duty had never crossed his mind before in all honesty, and MacTavish did not relish the thought of it happening right before his eyes, to him or to his men. And the worst thing was they would have to direct some fire at Anya as well.

"Just make sure you don't kill her," MacTavish told Meat. "And hope that she's not forced to kill us too."

He just hoped that in any case, none of this would have to happen.

* * *

Corporal Maria "Anya" Allen A.K.A. Ultranationalist Codename: Anya

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Kuala Lumpur

Once again, she was going to be kept in close proximity to Makarov. They had arrived a full day before their ship would, and throughout the whole day, as the rest of his men were going through the finer points of the operation, Makarov decided that he wanted to spend some more time with her, to try to get to know her better off duty.

That was why they remained in their hotel-room, a shared suite with two bedrooms. They had spent almost a whole day in utter silence, and he seemed to be utterly dissatisfied with whatever he had set to accomplish by keeping her in the suite. And that was the least of her worries.

She knew that Shepherd would try to take the opportunity to bring Makarov down. And if this was true, there was no doubt that the 141 would be nearby. And yet, she felt that it was too early to even try such a move. She knew that there was more to Makarov that being just a normal terrorist, even if he did have some command over the Russian Spetsnaz. And if and when the 141 really was there at Port Klang, she did not even what to think about what she was supposed to do.

Needing a bit of fresh air, she decided to put on her hotel slippers and walk towards the balcony. They were staying at the Hilton Hotel right opposite the central transportation station, half an hour's train ride from the airport, and it was a grand place to stay, with views of the Botanical Gardens as well as the Parliament building.

"I have always thought this country to be an intriguing one," Makarov said to her, leaning on the ornate railing of the balcony. "The government is so corrupt that people like us can come and go earning more money than ever to fund our operations, while the people just carry on with their lives like normal. This is an Islamic country, but, the people here live in harmony with one another, even if the government tries to strip even the most basic rights of their own citizens of different faith."

Anya looked at Makarov and waited for him to say something else, but it seemed that he wanted her opinion on this matter. "Perhaps the will to survive in these people are strong," she replied. "They won't back down without a fight, even if it means sacrificing what means the greatest to them." One thing surprised her though. His knowledge of this place was so deep that she could not even understand why he would go to such great lengths to learn about just one port of call.

But as the seconds pass, she began to understand why. Makarov had an attention to detail that she could only dream of possessing half of; she knew that he had trusted no one else to do the jobs that he wanted in the manner he desired, so he did it on his own. However, as time went by, she knew it as well that he was not a hard-hearted soul as the world had imagined him. This was a man who cared for those whose loyalty was sure, which meant that she was often not included, perhaps not yet. Not that she felt anything towards him…

Perhaps…

Those heterochromic eyes turned upwards upon her words, and Makarov went as far as to caress her jawline ever so softly. "You have a keen sight of things, Anya," he told her, the physical distance between them decreasing with each passing heartbeat. She met her eyes with his, and the moment he saw those orbs of sapphire hue, he gently pulled back his hand. "And may your sight guide you tomorrow when you provide us with the sniper cover you are so famous with. Now go, take a cab to see the city, you'll need some more fresh air than what this balcony can give you."

"Thank you, sir," she said, and went back into the room to change. And when she was ready to go out of the suite, she heard him call her, and she turned around, finding him with only his trousers on.

"Anya, you can drop the 'sir'," he told her, and earned a smile from her. With that, she left the room without another word.

Makarov swore that if he ever saw her smile like that ever again, he would drive himself mad. He had his fair share of beautiful women, that was for sure, but the fact that she was his subordinate, the fact that he could never, ever get past her mind, that was what kept him so wary of her. She was, in short, either a highly complex or a just a simplistic soldier who followed orders with no further thought.

She knew that she had been cooped up with Makarov for too long. She could actually feel the heat rushing into her cheeks upon seeing him half-naked. She was being an utter idiot. She was a soldier. She had seen plenty of half-naked men walking around, and Makarov was in his mid-forties! Why the hell was she checking out a man who could almost be her father in age?

"Calm down," she told herself, oblivious to the fact that she was talking to herself. She marched down into the hotel's café and ordered herself a steaming cup of coffee to calm her senses. And as she looked at the sheer amount of people going about the hotel (it was the school holidays in Malaysia), she did not realize Anatoly taking the seat next to her. "I didn't see anything…"

"What didn't you see, Anya?" Anatoly asked her, not even expecting her to blurt out the words that she was about to say.

"I didn't see Makarov half-naked!"

Those six words were words that she would regret uttering. Anatoly would never, ever, let her live it down, she just knew it. And if the boys back at the 141 knew about it, she would be a goner for sure.


	5. The First Time

Cpt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Straits of Malacca - 200 KM offshore

* * *

If Makarov and his men thought that they were going to intercept him on the docks, they were wrong. It was not a covert operation, but a joint one done with the Malaysian Coast Guard. That, of course, was only on paper. In real life, it was the Task Force 141 doing the dirty work, not that MacTavish had any qualms about that.

But something told him that this mission would not go as smoothly as Shepherd had expected. Of course, Anya had provided them with Intel better than they ever had received, there was still a chance that Makarov would be one step further than they were, just like every single attempt to take him down so far.

They approached the ship in the cover of darkness, trailing them closely in speedboats deployed from a vessel disguised as a fishing boat. It was not yet dawn when two teams of 141 field-men were sent onto the ship, hoping that the ship's radars would not sense them coming. They crept onto the deck of the ship, filled with as many containers as possible.

"Spread far and wide," MacTavish whispered into the comms, "Wait for the Malaysians to act first." His men all gave him positive responses, and he said to the Malaysian Coast Guards. "We're in position. You can contact them now." After saying those words, he took a deep breath and prayed for the best, as he had always done.

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen A.K.A. Ultranationalist Codename: Anya

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Straits of Malacca – 180 KM offshore

* * *

"They're here," she told Makarov. She was with him at the bridge of the ship. Her sapphire eyes scanned the deck of the ship, and although she could not see anything amiss, she noticed that the fishing boat right beside them was tailing them with increased speed.

Makarov looked at the radar and asked her, "How do you know?"

"Look at that boat there," she told him. "I have been watching it for a while, it came from the coast, and now it seems that it wants to bring us into the port."

He nodded his head. "What country do you think is after us?" he asked further. As he had told her before, the girl had a sight that no one else had. His men did not even state the fact that the boat was near them at all, and he knew that they weren't just leaving her to discover it. He had spent many years with them, and he knew where their talents lie. Anya's, would be her clear sapphire-hued eyes.

She knew that he was not even referencing Malaysia at all. "Those NATO soldiers Batkin had told you about… I've encountered them before, and I was lucky to survive."

Makarov actually chuckled at her words. "I am sure you did," he told her, and turned towards Anatoly, who gave them in-ear communications systems so that Makarov could relay instructions to them. Of course, he would be out of the action as the leader of the operation, out of the eyes of the enemy. The rest of them, they were all expendable muscle, and yet, he commanded and expected that they be loyal to him… "S nami bog," he said in Russian, a prayer that was customary before each and every operation, and left to the appointed place where he was to be their eyes and their ears.

Anya looked at him as he left. She knew that he was a leader far different than MacTavish was. The latter was more hands-on, and at least he cared for his subordinates when Shepherd did not. Anatoly told her before that when they were younger, Makarov often ran the missions himself. And he would still do so, from time to time. This was just not one important enough for him to get his hands and feet wet.

"You should be glad that you only have to stay here," Viktor told her. "At least you won't get to see the face of the enemy."

She nodded and replied. "You don't know how grateful I am for that." She did not want to see the faces of the 141, now fighting on a different side with her. She did not want to see them, knowing that she would have to try to kill them, just as they would be forced to do the same to her…

Looking outside the window, she saw that the fishing boat was now behind them but there were several other vessels beside them. The Malaysian Coast Guard. They would be prepared to board the ship, and she knew that it would not be a pretty scene at all.

* * *

"This is the Malaysian Maritime Enforcement Agency!" a man with a hailer announced from one of the Malaysian ships. There were four of them surrounding the Cinta Negara, front, back, right and left. "This ship is suspected of transporting human cargo as well as narcotics and will allow our men to board for further investigations!"

No word was said more. There was a warrant, and those on the Cinta Negara had to comply. The sun was rising, and already, the black gear of those bearing the emblem of a winged sword below an open skull could be seen. "Anya was right," said one of Makarov's men into the comms. "I see two of them to my right. They don't know that we're here."

"And let it stay that way," Makarov answered. "We need to be patient or we'll lose the element of surprise."

* * *

"We'd better pray that there's no one up there," Ghost muttered when he looked at the bridge. It would be a race to the top, because the bridge was the only place where one could get a bird's eye view of the deck, where all the containers were. Not only that, they had to discover which containers held the narcotics, and which containers held the people who were being trafficked.

"Archer, Toad, I want the two of you up on the bridge, now!" MacTavish said. "You'll have to be our eyes from up there."

But the moment before Archer and Toad could even move, a gunshot was heard. Men started to fire from all sides, the Indonesians that manned the ship, as well as a few Caucasians. There was not a doubt that those men were Makarov's. Altogether, their numbers were far greater than their own.

"Bullocks!" Ghost shouted. "Someone's getting really desperate here!" Their mission there was not to stop the cargo of the ship to enter Malaysia. Their mission there was to take Makarov down, but it seemed that their opponent has once again hid himself right before their eyes like the coward he was. Where was Anya when they needed her?

And then, it started. Right next to MacTavish, some of the Malaysian Coast Guard had fallen one by one, dead when he went to check on them. The enemy had a sniper amongst them, while theirs had to be yet in position… But why target the Malaysians when they had nothing to do with this rabble?

The soldiers of the Task Force 141 knew what was going on at that moment when MacTavish told them that some of the Malaysians were killed by a sniper. They knew that if they stormed up to the bridge, they would find what they did not want to. But Archer and Toad knew that they had to.

Thus, they stormed up onto the stairways to the bridge, but found their way blocked by the Indonesians that came with this ship. They were easy to take down, easy to overcome, but when they were on the third level, two more stories from the bridge, they saw a man with dark hair and mismatched eyes firing at them.

"We've encountered another Russian," Archer reported. "He's about 5'11", early middle-ages and has heterochromia."

"That's Makarov alright," MacTavish replied whilst shooting another Indonesian in the chest. "Engage with caution. Shepherd most likely wants him alive…"

However, Makarov seemed to have heard Archer, and went up to the bridge, where Anya seemed to have a field time picking off her targets. He saw her shooting one of the non-Malaysian combatants in the leg, it was not lethal shot, but he could not care less at that point of time. "Anya, it's time to go," he told her. "You'll do better next time."

Anya removed her eye from the scope of her sniper rifle and looked at Makarov. "But what about the operation?" she asked him. She had seen the 141 going through as many containers as they could, trying to look for incriminating evidence, but, they couldn't find any, as of yet…

"The cargo has already passed hands," Makarov told her. "Soon, we will receive the money, and we will be able to buy ammunition enough to further our other… pursuits." That look on her face, however, told him an entire different story. For the first time, he looked into her eyes and he saw a different emotion, and this one, was one of anger. But she did not speak; she only took her rifle into her hands and followed him to the roof of the bridge.

* * *

MacTavish was a man with strict sensibilities. He had hardly let out any profanities in his life, but the very moment he saw that helicopter he cursed. "I want that helo down now!" he shouted, and Ghost fired a grenade towards the helicopter. The lieutenant's shot would have been true, if not for the fact that Makarov and his men were still raining bullets at them.

"I've got a clear shot of Makarov, sir!" Archer reported, and MacTavish nodded. If they could not stop Makarov's operation, at least they could have taken him down. If anything happened to Makarov, then perhaps, everything would be put on hold, and they would be able to track him down and arrest him.

Archer, on the other hand, was sure that he could have done it. But he never expected to see a flash of gold at the moment when the bullet was supposed to enter Makarov's system. "Hit confirmed," Toad said with a shaky voice… "But, it's not Makarov that we hit…"

MacTavish could not believe it. What was she trying to do? What could she have achieved from that?

"Shepherd's gonna have our necks after this fiasco…" Ghost commented, and it was the last word anyone said until they returned to Sembawang in Singapore, and he was right. The Lieutenant-General was not happy at all when he received the news that not only Makarov had escaped, but also the shipment had already been transferred into a smaller vessel that reached Port Klang the moment the 141 intercepted the Cinta Negara. Malaysia and the countries that headed the Task Force 141 would be made laughing stocks for the weeks to come.

However, even Shepherd knew that with Makarov, one could never be too sure of their success before the very end. That man was not only cunning and ruthless, he was able to anticipate almost anything that would be thrown at him. This man would do anything and everything to achieve his goals, and there was no stopping him.

"This isn't the first setback we've faced," Shepherd told the boys. "Makarov's always been two steps ahead. It was like this before we sent Anya there, and we should've seen it coming." Their commander said nothing more, until MacTavish was the only one left in the briefing room. "MacTavish, contact Anya. I want a full report on why she failed to tell us that Makarov had a plan B. She should know him in and out by now."

MacTavish could only look down and utter, "Aye, sir."

* * *

Corporal Maria "Anya" Allen A.K.A Ultranationalist Codename: Anya

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Sunway Hospital – Near Kuala Lumpur

* * *

"Where the hell am I?" Anya asked the moment she opened her eyes, finding Anatoly and Viktor before her. She felt a little pain in her lower back, but also something in her arm… That smell… she seemed to be in a hospital of some sort, but why?

"You were shot in the back, Anya," Anatoly said to her. "But luckily, the bullet missed your spine and you'll be on the mend very soon, despite how… inefficient these Malaysian hospitals are. Makarov actually had you transferred here from a government hospital near the port."

Makarov… she remembered now. She saw Archer aiming a shot at Makarov and she quickly shielded his body with hers. She did not know why she did that, seeing how the operation went, but what was done was done. And she knew that she would have to salvage the situation in another manner.

"Can you please thank him for me when you see him?" Anya told the two of them. She knew it more than ever that Makarov would be more inclined to listen to them rather than her. Just thinking about it just made her head hurt. She did not know what else she could do to gain Makarov's trust, and this time, she had let down the 141 for failing to help them… She would not have agreed to be Shepherd's mole if she ever knew that this was going to happen.

Viktor looked at the door and then back at her. "Why don't you just tell him yourself?" he asked her. "On another note, I think that he should be thanking you, not the other way around."

And as if on cue, there was a knock on the door and Anatoly rose to open it so that Makarov could enter. His brow was furrowed, as always, Anya noted, but there was something… different about him. "Leave us," he practically barked at Anatoly and Viktor, and his men did as they were told, but not with knowing looks that Anya could not decipher at all. And when they left, Makarov turned towards her. "Anya…" he said, and sat on the chair immediately next to her bed. "How could you be so stupid?"

She shrugged and shook her head. The universal answer to questions where one had no answers. "I wasn't thinking at all, I guess," she added, trying to smile even with that stern expression on his face. "You and the guys are probably the closest thing I've come to having a family these few months…" She was not going to wait any longer, nor was she going to give him any more time to brood about her worthiness. If she risked a shot from Archer, she would make sure that it was worth her while.

Without even thinking for a second further, she did what no American soldier should have done. There and then, she cupped Makarov's face and closed the distance between their lips. "Anya…" he rasped after the kiss, finding his arms around her waist. He could smell her, even, a faint scent amidst the heaviness of the chloroform and antiseptics.

"I have been an orphan for so long, Makarov," she added after she had gained her breath. "Please…"

Makarov closed his eyes. "We'll talk about this when we get back home," he told her, kissing the back of her hand.


	6. The Bridging Gaps

He looked at the sleeping woman before him and sighed. He knew he should not have given into the girl for a host of many reasons: He had still not discovered her true nature; that she could most likely be a spy, and more importantly, he could not afford to have himself embroiled in such an entanglement… He was a busy man, a man with a mission…

But when he looked upon that woman who had risked her life for his, for whatever reason that it was, and the fact that she was so alike him, in that they were soldiers, that she had the same enthusiastic hope for the future as he once did in his youth, that she was without a family of her own… His hand had reached for hers without his mind's command. It was so small compared to his, so dainty in comparison, how was it that she was so skilled with a gun?

"You fool!" he could practically hear Zakhaev's condescending voice in his mind. "That vixen could have had you killed in your sleep the moment you take her to your bed!" And he knew that there was a great possibility for that to happening. But what if she was a spy anyways? She would be still of use to him, there was no doubt about it. If she would use her own beauty and skills to such an extent to weave a trap for him, then who was to say that he could not do the same to her?

Besides, he would not be on the losing side at all. The girl was young, and still idealistic… She would most probably fall into every single word that he would say. Once he figured out what side she was on, he would easily be able to sway her to his own fully.

For the time being, he would be content that he would have another capable aid in his arsenal of subordinates, who happened to be a beautiful distraction in every sense of the word. Yes, he did think that she was a beautiful woman, and that was a tall standard to match, especially according to his tastes. But what man would not be stirred when they looked upon her?

"You are an enigma to me, Anya," he whispered to her as she was sleeping under the influence of the medications that she had been taking. She would be discharged in about two weeks, and it was plenty of time for them to recuperate and plan for their future operations. "Who are you, my dear? Why have you come to me?" he asked her further, and brought his lips to the top of her head ever so softly.

He felt her hand tighten in his and watched her stir in her sleep. What was she seeing in her dreams, he could not tell, but he did know one thing: it could not have been a good dream, not from what she must have seen throughout her service as one. Makarov put down her hand, and was about to leave when he heard her call to him.

"What time is it?" she asked him in English groggily, her eyes were not even open.

"Three forty-five in the morning," Makarov replied in the same language. She said nothing more and fell asleep once more. He left the room and went back towards the parking lot to find Anatoly already waiting for him in the car that he had rented, ready to drive him back to the adjacent hotel that they were renting.

It was going to be a long two weeks in Malaysia indeed.

* * *

Corporal Maria "Anya" Allen A.K.A. Ultranationalist Codename: Anya

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Moscow, Russia.

* * *

She had returned with Makarov and his men the very day she was discharged from the hospital. And she had notified the 141 of her return as soon as she had been able to. She knew that Shepherd would not have been happy at all with what she did, and she was anxious to discover the fate of the 141 following the previous… fiasco.

This time, it was Ghost that came to see her, and they were in a rather middle-class neighborhood. She had told Makarov that she was meeting an old course mate who was still a bachelor. "How are the boys?" she asked, knowing well that she was being followed, as always. Makarov's reach was even further than she dared to even calculate, so they had to prepare for any eventuality.

"The boys are doing fine," Ghost replied. "Some of them are even working for the old man!"

The 141 could communicate not only through voice. They had devised different systems of gestures for different settings to send messages to one another, because even coded words could be broken; And with enemies like the Ultranationalists, the 141 need to be prepared. For example, in that dinner setting, Ghost would take a sip of wine and it would mean one thing, if he chewed three times on his main course, it would mean something else altogether.

_Shepherd's having a great time skulking at the results at the Op. All of us, including 'Tavish has got extra training and whatnot,_ Ghost reported to her. _And what were you thinking, taking the shot for Makarov? You scared us all half to death!_

She laughed along with Ghost and replied, "Really? I do hope that he pays them. He hasn't given me the money when I was his research assistant!" She stabbed the dumpling in her bowl with her fork and glanced at the man three tables away. _He shouldn't have pulled all of you into this so early. Makarov's planning something big, and if we stop him halfway, there might be others that might take his place…_

"Oh, and Annie made it big in New York," Ghost added_, _"Apparently she was a translator for some fashion hotshots and got signed on by an agency." It was a common 141 trick. It was a generic sentence, able to be placed into any sort of conversation. It basically meant that he understood what she said and would report it to MacTavish and Shepherd.

"Thanks for telling me all this, Jackie," she said, remembering the name assigned to Ghost when he was collecting reports from her. "I miss them all you know, but since I joined the armed forces…'

Ghost laughed, and replied, "Anya, you're doing great with the Spetsnaz, aren't you? All of us are proud of you." It was true that the political climate between America and Russia were strained, and many suspected that a second Cold War would soon start, but between friends, those words would bring comfort to her. "Dinner's on me, darlin'" he told her, and she rose to hug him and left after thanking him.

"Anatoly, you can come out now," Anya said, looking towards the alleyway behind her. She rolled her eyes as Anatoly emerged, with a hand up his neck. She had to act as if she was not expecting Makarov to send someone to trail her, and she knew that she was supposed to be furious. "How long have you been following me?"

"Throughout dinner," he reported. "But it wasn't me. I had a few boys observe you and things like that… Anya, you know that I wouldn't do it if I had a choice."

She knew that unlike that of her own, those words coming from Anatoly were genuine. "Well, at least you're not the new recruit," she joked wryly and stood beside the man. "You're his right hand man, how long were you with him?" It would be a great time to dig information about the rest of the boys as well, because one could never know when it would be useful someday.

Anatoly looked towards the stars, blocked by the immense number of skyscrapers and began to count. "Well, for the record, it's been more than 20 years. Makarov and I go further back, back when we were soldiers of the Red Army!" She chuckled along with him, and he continued. "Dimitri came not long after, and he had such an eye for talent! Zakhaev favored Dimitri after his son, Makarov and Boris, you know?"

"He was a great teacher," she said, looking down towards the pavement. "His passing still haunts me…"

"Trust me," Anatoly added. "Makarov'll find a way to avenge him."

In all truth, Dimitri Batkin had betrayed Makarov to America. He had staged his death for a new name, a handsome pension and all the freedom of America in exchange for enough forged papers and information to put her where she was right now. She would have to play her cards right if she were to shake each and every one of Makarov's suspicions off her.

"But, there's another reason why Makarov sent me here," said Anatoly. Now, this was something that she was utterly curious to know. "He's worried for you, since you're just being discharged from the hospital and all that. He actually wanted me to make sure that you didn't eat any seafood. "

"Seafood?" Anya asked incredulously. "What does seafood have to do with anything?"

"It aggravates healing wounds," Anatoly replied. "We learned that from a grandmother who used to clean his apartments. She had a Chinese daughter in law and all that. We tried it out and found out that it was true. Imagine that!"

* * *

Anya did not really know how to deal with Makarov at all. First, he had her followed whenever she was out of his sight even after she had taken a bullet for him, and now, he sent his right hand man to follow her because he wanted to make sure that she was eating right post-injury?

She was silent after that, and allowed Anatoly to drive her back to Makarov's apartment. Her thoughts, however, dwelled on a certain terrorist who had slowly learnt was more of a radical politician than anything, a strategist, a businessman, everything but what she had been trained to think of him as.

She did not have any keys to the apartment, so, she had to knock, naturally, and she was greeted by Makarov, who was dressed in nothing but a terrycloth bathrobe. "Was your dinner productive?" he asked her when she plopped herself on the leather sofa.

"It was," she answered him bluntly, her anger evident in her words. "Still… Makarov… why do you still doubt me?" she asked him. She knew that one operation was not enough to prove her worth to him, but how he had treated her in the two weeks when she was hospitalized… she thought that she could have reached a breakthrough.

Makarov did not respond, but he did not keep his distance at all. Instead, he sat next to her on the sofa and took her hand in his, like that night in the hospital… But she had been too drugged to remember anything more about it. "I do not know what to think of you, Anya," he told her. "You are beautiful and intelligent but…"

"But?" she asked. Those eyes of emerald and blue told her nothing at all. Knowing that she would receive no answer, she rose and excused herself from his company. She was about to walk towards her room when she felt him catching her by the wrist and with one powerful tug, she was upon his lap. "What do you want from me?" she asked him further, getting more and more furious by the second.

He kissed her. Just as suddenly as she did him in the hospital in the suburb near Kuala Lumpur two weeks ago, he kissed her, and this time, it was not sweet or short as the previous one had been. His tongue grazed her lower lip, and when she brought her arms around his neck, she parted her lips so that their tongues could meet. His hold upon her tightened, and soon, she was straddling him.

"I want you," he whispered into her ear, his light, cold voice bringing thousands of tiny electric shocks up her spine. "All of you, Anya." And between each of those words, he kissed her forehead, the arch of her neck and the base of her collarbones.

There was nothing that she could do apart from closing her eyes and sighing. She had started this little game of seduction in Malaysia, and she would have to use it to her full advantage. "So be it," she breathed, turning her head a little to kiss the side of his head as she burrowed her fingers into his hair, tugging the ties of his bathrobe open with the other.

* * *

HAN: A word of thanks to Sassy Satsuma for her kind reviews!


	7. The Breakthrough

He had never been with a woman for too damned long.

Yes, that must be why he was leaning the woman in his arms, the woman whose mind he could never fathom, onto the sofa that they were sitting on, their tongues dancing in the most feral way imaginable between kisses that he never imagined that she had in her. Perhaps he had been wrong about her being just another idealistic girl…

She quickly got the better of him, and rolled over so that she could position herself above him. "You won't have me that easily," she whispered into his ear, her words all but a tease. Their fingers laced with one another's, she held his hands above his head, and nibble on the arch of his neck. He smirked, rather enjoying the fact that she had him right where she wanted him. And from the look of her eyes, he knew that the desire between them was mutual. It was a good sign.

Her hands soon left his, and she caressed every single part of his body, as though she was exploring him, studying every single inch of his being, and she marveled at him. A man in his age could not have a body this perfect, she reasoned, grazing her fingers over his washboard abdomen before placing a kiss above his belly button. And it seemed that her musings were not utterly silent at all, because Makarov actually raised an eyebrow and asked, "A Greek god?" when the name "Ares" flashed through her mind. Immediately, she stopped all that she was trying to do and he chuckled lightly while rolling himself above her. "Do you think so highly of me, Anya?" he asked, and she answered his question with a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"That depends…" she replied while he reached for the zipper of her dress, watching his surprise when he discovered that the only article of clothing that remained upon her were her red lace knickers. She brought his hand to her breasts and encouraged him to cup one of the fleshy mounds, which resulted in his assault of her nipple with his tongue. "Ohh…" was the whisper that sounded into his ear, and he swore that it would be his undoing.

And that was only the beginning.

In the heat of impassioned kisses, Anya's boldness increased and she began to take his erect member in her hand, stroking it ever so gently. He gave out a low growl, and grasped a lock of her hair tightly, silently beckoning her to do more. She took her time and brought her tongue to the head of his shaft.

Not one to be easily outdone, Makarov positioned her so that her womanhood was right in his line of sight, and he began to torture her just as sweetly as she did him. He brought his tongue through the folds of her core, licking her clitoris again and again as he thrust a finger or two into her. He heard her moan, and reached for her head, silently urging her to continue, an act which she quickly obliged without further coaxing.

Moments passed, and they soon found themselves in the embrace of lovers, her long legs around his waist, his arms wound around her lithe soldier's form. There were scars all over her body, scars of battle, and perhaps a dressing on her back. He would help her change it in the morning, he told himself, and delivered yet another kiss to her lips, a kiss that threatened to shatter the earth if they should part in that moment of time.

"Makarov…" she moaned when she felt his manhood slowly entering her. For the slightest moment of inactivity, she clung onto him and closed her eyes as her body began to accommodate his length as well as his girth, and when that passed, she kissed him briefly, and began to move in accordance to the rhythm that he had built for the both of them.

She knew that what she was doing was wrong; she reasoned to herself as smirked at him as she went on top of him and began to ride him. The man who was beneath her, he who was scoring his blunt fingernails into her hips as she gained her momentum; he was a monster with a penchant for the bloodshed of countless innocents just for one word: vengeance. He was supposed to be no less human than the ones that she had killed with the 141…

But something struck her from within. If a man was so impassioned with hatred against the rest of the world, how could he be so gentle, so seductive when they were in such a primal state of being? She had been with other men before, men that she had dated, and no matter who they were, when it came to sex, the one thing that ran through their minds was their own satisfaction. Makarov… he was another monster altogether. He knew how to treat a woman, and the fire that he had manage to rouse within her, it was not the same as what her past encounters could ever achieve.

He gasped, knowing that he was coming close to his climax, and managed to change their positions again. This time, they were spooned against one another. With his hand gently holding one of her breasts from around her shoulder, and her leg in another, he nibbled on her ear as he began to thrust into her yet again. "Beautiful…" he murmured, licking the base of her neck, his voice nothing more than a gasp of air.

She could not respond to his words any longer, for there was nothing in her mind, save for the ecstasy that could only increase and the powerful sensations that overcame her, the sight of him, the scents that filled her nose, how he had moaned her name… Her vision began to blur and white overcame her... She screamed, and it was nothing generic, she had called his name as she gave herself to her ecstasy.

He came undone not long after she did. He knew that she was taking oral contraceptives (and that was the extent of how he was close he had been watching her), and decided to remain in her depths, savoring the feeling of the walls of her womanhood clamping against him as he reached the height of his orgasm, and there he remained for a long time, until each of them had regained their breaths.

"Stay with me for the night," he told her when she sought to leave his embrace when the reality of what they had done sank into her mind. She had crossed lines that she should not cross, giving into her own desires… And she knew that soon, she would know the price she would have to pay. She knew that she should not have done this, but what was done was done…

Feeling his lips upon hers once again, it was already clear in her mind that she could not reverse what had already passed. Thus, she kissed him back and nodded her head. He smiled and started to pick her up, walking towards his room and kicked the door close.

His room was far opulent than hers, although it remained simple in design. Black and chrome graced the interiors, save for the ornate king-sized bed that seemed to belong to some sort of royalty. "This was once owned by Nicholas II and his beautiful wife Alexandra," he told her with a glint in his eyes. "It is the only… luxury that I truly appreciate."

"Really?" she asked in reply. He was a man who knew how to use his money, she reckoned, and brought her lips to his forehead. "What about all the fancy dinners, the first class flights and the suits?" she added. "Those things don't come cheap…"

"Those are nothing compared to the feeling of sleeping upon the bed that once belonged to a Tsar," Makarov interrupted her as he lifted her chin for another kiss. "And as you know, sleep is a far greater luxury than anything that I can afford."

Once again Anya's secretive smile came into his view, and she said, "Well, I should apologize for depriving you of such a luxury, then…"

His response was only a finger laid upon her lips. "And you should not dally any longer, my dear." Snaking his arms around her waist, their bodies once again spooned with one another; he kissed the base of her neck and swallowed a deep breath, taking in the scent of her hair as well. By that time, she was already fast asleep, her golden hair sprawling across the bed. He too, soon joined her, but not before a light kiss to her temple.

* * *

Captain John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Land-base (Location Classified)

* * *

Meat had returned from Moscow, bringing more news from Anya. It seemed that she had successfully gotten into Makarov's bed. That alone did not mean anything, but Shepherd had made it clear that they were to report every single progress that she had made.

"Sir," MacTavish said upon entering the Lieutenant-General's office. "Anya managed to seduce Makarov." Those were words that he found particularly hard to utter. Of course he knew that it was one of the easiest ways for Anya to get closer to Makarov, but still… he felt that Shepherd could have told her to be more… professional, as she was expected to be back here with the boys and vice versa.

Shepherd looked up from the pile of papers he was dealing with and was silent for a few moments. "That's a good start," the older man said. "At least, now that she's shared his bed, he'd be obliged to share… other things with her…" Sending a beautiful woman in order to crush an enemy was the oldest trick in the book, and MacTavish had never thought that Anya would have to deal with this kind of… tactic. But he knew that Shepherd's orders were final, and no one ever had ways of going around it, no matter how hard they tried.

"Sir, I'm worried about Anya," MacTavish added. "She's been there so long, and if she's allowed to do _that_ with Makarov…"

"Anya's a good soldier, MacTavish," Shepherd reminded the Captain. "She'll do everything it takes to achieve the completion of her mission. I know that what we're doing here is crude and unprofessional, but it's the only way to do it because it's the last thing that Makarov'll ever expect."

Makarov was a prey that Shepherd had vowed to capture long since the formation of the Task Force 141. This man, in recent years, had even exceeded the Taliban on the Pentagon's "most wanted" list. And now, America had one of her elite soldiers who was sacrificing her own integrity and body to bring him down…

MacTavish knew that there was nothing more he could do for Anya than to hope for the best. The one thing that worried him was that Shepherd had brought in another US Army Ranger that was meant to be her "replacement" if anything went wrong. It was almost as if he was ready to cast one of his best fighters off if anything happened.

Gary Sanderson, or "Roach" as he was called was the new FNG of the 141, he was young, bright-eyed, and more importantly, he was also a sharpshooter with skills that few possessed. The kid was eager to please, and MacTavish could more or less understand that, given the notoriety that the 141 had gained over the past few years.

"I hope you're right, sir," the Captain continued with a sigh. He knew Anya like he knew each and every one of his subordinates. She was a steadfast warrior as most of the Americans were, but Anya could see things that other people could not, and her talents were not limited to peripheral vision. She could see the outcomes of actions made by the many players of their field of work affecting other variables, but this ability of hers was a double-edged sword because most times she would only act on the outcome she found most viable, leaving other options out when they could be the answer to all the riddles…

"Trust me, MacTavish," Shepherd replied. "Our girl'll make us proud. I can promise you that."


	8. The Discussion

The view was majestic, one of the most beautiful that she had ever seen. It was of the skyscrapers before her, being engulfed by tiny streams of gold and red light, the first moment of dawn, when the darkness of the world was subdued by the sun. The light had just touched the base of every single building in sight.

In about half an hour, the entire city of Moscow would be bright and beautiful underneath the summer's sun. That was the view that she was seeing from the main window in Makarov's room just a few moments after waking right next to him in his bedroom in his apartment, Located in the very heart of the financial district in Moscow.

It was nigh impossible to actually believe that the most wanted man in the world was hiding there in plain sight… It was utterly inconceivable, but there in Russia, as in every mega-metropolis, money could bring everything, be it anonymity or utter security.

Her blue eyes looked out the full-length windows and she sighed internally, feeling a pair of strong arms encircling her waist. "You're up early," Makarov whispered into her ear, and caressed the side of her cheek. Those words sent a chill up her spine, the fire between them that burned so brightly in the previous night all but fizzled out, replaced by a sense of guilt, of regret. In her eyes, she was still the girl from the suburbs, an American soldier that had sworn to defeat the enemies of the world. Whatever they did last night, it felt horribly wrong to her from the depths of her guts. She did not like that feeling at all, and she had a feeling that she would have to go through it many, many more times.

"You're one to talk," she replied, turning to face him. Even when they were alone, his expression was still so cold, although the iron-like quality of his voice had diminished somewhat. "It's not yet even sunrise, and you're already awake." Looking into his mismatched eyes, she tried to decipher what was in his mind, but she found nothing. "You must have an important appointment with a very secret informant…" It was the most logical thing to say, and he nodded his head. Makarov was a man who did things by himself because he did not trust others to do them, and she knew that it would be a long, long time before he would be willing to share anything with her at all.

"I have a meeting with an old friend," he told her. "He is on an important mission for me on a long-term basis, you'll not see him often."

Anya had heard tell of this man before. Apparently, he was a close friend of Makarov's next to Dimitri Batkin and Anatoly, a man who had been with all of them since Zakhaev's prime. If there was anyone that Makarov had to rely on without any choice left, that man would be the man that he would turn to… That man would be a man that she should not cross at all. He would be even more dangerous to her than Makarov himself would be.

"I'll tell you one thing, Anya," Makarov added, kissing the top of her forehead. "I would not have earned the favor of Imran Zakhaev without Yuri, and vice versa. I am sure that he will be pleased to meet you if he has the chance to."

She chuckled softly and looked into his eyes as his fingers loosened their hold on her chin. "I can just see his reaction when you introduce me to him as your paramour."

Those words were meant as a joke, and she was lucky that Makarov took it as one. In fact, she was starting to realize that one of her redeeming qualities in his eyes was that she had a sense of humor that none of his men ever had, and he was starting to enjoy it. Strange, it seemed that the more natural the response, the less reserved he was with her. She would have to make a mental note of that.

"Anya," Makarov uttered her name in a rather condescending manner. "If anything, you will be more than a paramour to me. At least you can use a few guns."

"Fair enough," she answered back and rose when he offered her a bathrobe so that she could go back to her room as decently dressed as possible. His men would already be there around that time, and judging by how they threw off each other's clothes the previous night… It was rather prudent of Makarov to have offered it to her.

She exited his room when he entered the bathroom, and what she saw did not surprise her. Anatoly, Viktor, Lev and Kiril were all looking at her in utter shock, unable to even react to the fact that she and Makarov actually spent the night together. "Good morning," she greeted them with a curt nod, gathering her clothes that Makarov had almost torn apart quickly before departing back into her room.

Once in the sanctuary of her own room, she leaned onto the surface of the door to try to hear anything that they might have uttered, where they thought that she was out of earshot.

"Did I just see…?"

"Yes, Lev, it was Anya coming out of Makarov's room," Anatoly replied. "Yes, she was previously undressed if not for the bathrobe."

Kiril seemed to have a calmer mind about it. "There's nothing to make of it, right? Makarov's had his share of women…"

"Frankly, no," Anatoly sighed, taking a puff of cigarette smoke. "Makarov does not keep them close at all after sex. From what we know, he intends to have Anya here as long as she survives whatever he throws at us."

"You mean that they're together now that they're having sex?" Kiril asked.

"No," Anatoly stressed. "All I know is that Makarov intends to keep her beside him and with us, for whatever purpose. I don't know much for anything else. Whatever happens, nothing changes until Makarov says so."

It was at Anatoly's words that Anya felt relief was over her. She knew that she should not discredit Makarov for being so easily shaken by one night of pleasure, not should she ever hope that it would change to be the better for her. At the end, her mission was still clear; she had to feed Intel back to the 141.

Yes, it was all she had to do, and at that point, it was all she could ever hope to do.

* * *

Vladimir Makarov

Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Moscow

* * *

He was going to meet Yuri in a busy local restaurant, infamous for its early-morning breakfast crowds, most of its clientele being corporate employees of all levels. This was where they got their morning coffee where the sounds of the many, many customers would drown out their conversation.

If Makarov was the prodigal politician-cum-terrorist leader like Imran Zakhaev had been, then Yuri's image could be found as the prized soldier in any elite military unit. He was young, resourceful and loyal, in short, the very man that a young leader like Makarov needed. Sometimes (more often that Makarov would ever want to admit, that is), Yuri was even able to give sound counsel.

"Makarov, that girl is dangerous," Yuri told him after a hearty sip of coffee. "This is not a joke to prevent you from bedding her, she is what I say she is, make no mistake with that," Makarov had tasked Yuri to find out more about the girl, and the latter was not to reveal himself to her at any time to quell any whisper that he had his own suspicions of her. "Her background is completely clean. We can trace her existence straight to the orphanage where she supposedly grew up in… This smells like an elaborate plan for something, I am sure of it."

The Americans were getting desperate, it seemed. So desperate indeed, that they decided to send perhaps one of their best warriors to have a straight shot towards him, creating a sealed web of lies around her, so that he would not notice any holes at all. They were fools. It was for that precise reason that she was being suspected in the first place, because no one, not even one who had lived a life of privilege and happiness ever was in the Russian military without their own story to tell, a story of pain and suffering… He could easily see it in the eyes of his men, all of them. The girl, however, she was bright-eyed, and full of hope. It was the mark of a soldier from the West, thinking that he or she could actually make a difference in the world from his or her actions…

Makarov looked at Yuri and sighed. "She took a bullet for me, Yuri," he told her. It was a statement, the utterance of fact and only pure fact. "We must be grateful to those who saved our lives." There was no mistake about it, he mused, recalling the incident that happened almost a month ago. It had been so damned evident to see that the Malaysians were working with some NATO military faction, and when she saw that a sniper was about to take his shot, she quickly shielded his body with her own. Not even his most loyal of followers would have done something so selfless. She, on the other hand, had no choice, he deemed, because she needed to obtain his trust in the soonest time possible.

Yuri scoffed. "She comes to you with an agenda," he told Makarov matter-of-factly. "There is no way around that. Are you not worried that one day she might be able to kill you?"

"Yuri, the day she is able to kill me, will come after the day that you betray me," Makarov placated. He was sure, very, very sure that his friend would never do anything of the sort. After all, their rise to power had been on the same path ever since that day in Pripyat, Ukraine, and it would not ever change. "However, of all the artificialness that surrounds her, there are a few things that really surprised me about Anya."

Yuri raised an eyebrow. How could a woman surprise Makarov in any way? They were mysterious creatures, yes, but in all his years with Makarov, he had never seen him think highly of one at all. They were all just… tools to be used, to be threatened when necessary, or, to bed when they needed something more substantial than a bottle of good Vodka to waste. "What is it?" he queried, looking back at his friend, whose mind seemed to be unable to be shaken from the girl.

"She has the ability to project whatever it is to come accurately, judging from past events," Makarov answered. "All of us are subject to knee-jerk actions in our lives, but Anya, she is able to forecast that something is going on the moment she receives a stimulus."

"She knew that her companions would storm that ship, and she knew that they brought snipers," Yuri corrected Makarov. "That's why she shielded you from that bullet. She needed to earn your trust. My friend, do not let things go in too deeply into your head. It's just as simple as that."

Makarov knew that there was a chance that Yuri may be right. "That would make her the bravest soul ever," he concluded. If Anya knew that she was being watched constantly by his men, and she had the courage to even challenge him, to ask him why, acting as if she was truly the innocent party, then Anya's courage knew no bounds. "If only our own men had her courage…"

"Then they will have no qualms into acting for those who are your enemies," Yuri finished Makarov's sentence for him. "That is precisely why the girl is dangerous, Makarov. The very fact that she dares to do what she is doing shows her heart. You must be very, very careful around her."

* * *

HAN: Hello, people! I'm finally back after my hiatus! I've been planning to continue this fic after Modern Warfare 3 came out, and now that my Uni finals are done and I've already played through the game, there's not much of an excuse not to update! Oh yes, I will write this according to the timeline of the whole series as best as I can, so hopefully, I'll be able to stick with canon this time, heehee ^.^ Well as always, I hope you liked reading this, and that you'll stick around to see what I have all lined up for you.


	9. The Honeypot

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen A.K.A Ultranationalist Codename: Anya

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Favela Rochina, Rio de Janeiro

* * *

Oftentimes, she wondered if she was actually in some action movie in the 80s. She was a honeypot, a term for a female spy sent to seduce the enemy and feed information back into her country, while the man she was supposed to be spying on was in the heart of the biggest favela in the city of Rio de Janeiro, negotiating a new arms deal with the supplier he had been doing business with for years.

It was just one of those times, she mused, and that life was imitating fiction.

They were in Rio to meet with Alexandro Rojas (whom Makarov had introduced to Anya as "Alex the Red"), a weapons trader whose reach was as far as Makarov's. In fact, the two of them had a deep history together. They had benefitted from one another in more ways than one, and Makarov would always go to Rojas first before considering other providers of illegal arms.

That was the day that she found out that Makarov was actually quite the linguist. He could even speak Spanish and a little Chinese apart from the customary English and Russian. "Alex, this is not a joke," he told the arms dealer rather strictly. "I need that shipment within the year. Do you have it or do you not?"

"That large a number is going to require more work, Vladimir," Rojas replied. "Let me remind you that no other man in this business will be able to do it as quickly as I can and at this price."

Those words intrigued Anya greatly. What was Makarov going to do? Start a war? Why did he need that many weapons?

"How much more time do you need?" Makarov asked, his voice seemingly calmer after several mental calculations that he did while he was circling Rojas' makeshift office like a vulture. There was a world map right there on the wall, and Anya saw that it had numerous holes in it although there were no pins, no markers or even writing. No evidence could be left on it at all. Makarov stared at the map for a long, long while, and in his contemplation there was a great silence. Every eye was trained upon him, their owners trying to decipher what was going on in his mind. Those that knew him well tried to do so after a few minutes had passed, but Anya; she was more intent to finish what she endeavored to do.

Rojas grimaced, and started to tap on his calculator. "For a shipment this big… one year, and you'll have to pay extra," he offered. "I'm going have to stop taking all other orders if I want to meet the deadline."

"The price is not a problem," Makarov countered. "All I want is for what I want to get where I want on time." Anya practically rolled her eyes at his response. It was evident that Makarov had already contacted Rojas privately about the matter, but why did he need them around to negotiate the deadline? What was there for them to know?

A smile cross Rojas' face, a smile that graced the face of a businessman when he knew that he had hit the jackpot when he heard Makarov's words that price was not an issue altogether; in fact, it was one of the reasons why Makarov was one of his favorite customers. In South America, whatever Rojas charged and Makarov paid was the market price, and Rojas was a fair man, he only charged the market price. Rojas could just remember the time when the Zakhaevs were still alive. Old Man Zakhaev himself was an arms trader, but decided to work with him from time to time, particularly after he started to have political interests in Russia. Makarov just inherited a very, very reliable supplier.

"I won't stop until the work is done, Vladimir," Rojas assured with his arms akimbo. "A guy like you is a godsend to a businessman like me. You don't know how many people's jobs you have saved for a year. Brazil thanks you."

Makarov smirked. "With your talent in dealing with the local politicians, I think that this will be a lucrative venture for the both of us," he added. With a nod, he signaled Anya to retrieve the bottle of Bordeaux that they had brought with them. She went to the back of the office with Viktor and did as she was told. Oh, she knew that there was more to the mere act of getting some wine for her employer. Makarov was intentionally displaying her before Rojas, for a reason that she would rather not discover. It was a common tactic, using a woman's image, and it was rather… ironic, that this whole notion, that no man could ever be free from the wiles of a beautiful woman, was the essence of her mission. By that time, she had already taken her task as a compliment to herself and to her parents who gave her the good lucks she had come to rely on. It might even help her save the world, so to speak.

She was silent when she handed Rojas the wine, only flashing a polite, but bright smile towards the arms dealer.

"Makarov, you wound me," Rojas said when Anya resumed her original place, standing next to Viktor. "Where have you found such a lovely woman, and why didn't you tell me?"

"She is not just any girl I found," Makarov explained. "Anya is my new agent from the Spetsnaz. She came highly recommended." Somehow, Anya had honestly hoped that she could find the source of his words, his motives on saying them, but sadly she failed. However, one thing was for sure, that there was an implicit meaning behind what he said. Makarov had inadvertently told Rojas that his former military power had been regained since he was kicked out of the inner circle, that he was able to move a soldier from the Spetsnaz without any difficulty, that she was only the first one in many.

There was no doubt that Rojas understood those words despite his silence. In fact, it was evident that he was trying hard not to conceal the sudden feeling of fear that one feels when one hears those words. The only person, who would not feel a sudden pang of panic at a proclamation of this nature, would be Makarov himself.

Anya could see that Rojas was used to dealing with power-hungry despots like Makarov. However, his reactions betrayed him, and that gave Makarov the satisfaction he wanted. Perhaps she was lucky in the sense that she already knew that Makarov would expect such a reaction from everyone, and thus, her facial expressions remained still.

"Well, to our future then," Rojas uttered after a great moment of hesitation once his men had opened the wine and poured it out into the glasses that Makarov provided. They toasted one another and emptied each of their glasses.

There was no more talk of what was to come after that, only Makarov and Rojas engaging in the banter of businessman. However, it was that banter that gave Anya the greatest insight of Makarov's reach in the activities in the underworld. Apparently, he has dealt with almost every single player in the game over the past 20 years that he was active, from the crime lords of Mainland China, to the warlords of Africa, and was considered somewhat as an industry stalwart. The only direction that he could move was upwards, closer to the chain of command.

Anya could only hope that what she could discover that afternoon would be useful to the boys back home.

* * *

(Five hours later)

Yuri

Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

JW Marriott Hotel, Rio de Janeiro

* * *

He had been watching the girl ever since she joined them on Batkin's dying wish, unseen by her at all times, and the more he watched her, the more… dubious the Anya seemed.

Now that the negotiations of Makarov's new deal with Rojas was done, they were all free to roam about the city for two days. It was about this time that Anya decided to hit the beach, and he was there to observe her every move from a room three floors from hers.

The girl had a book in her hand, along with whatever females brought to the beach, and she seemed to do nothing but just read while soaking the sun's rays in the glorious Brazilian afternoon.

"One would think that you half expected her to hide a pistol in her swimsuit," Anatoly joked, looking over at the beach, filled with people as always. "Yuri, when Makarov told you to watch her, he didn't mean it literally, no?"

"This girl is more than what she seems," Yuri replied. "No woman has ever piqued Makarov's interest, and something tells me that it is all planned. For example, no one in their right mind would be able to absorb the truth that Makarov has already great military power back home. It is unacceptable and highly illogical to the common masses, and yet Anya joins us so freely."

Anatoly furrowed his brow. "Surely Batkin must've…"

Yuri did not let his friend finish the sentence. "Batkin may be part of the deception itself," he interjected. Makarov might have had his doubts regarding Batkin's death but Yuri was adamant in his theory that it was all a lie. "The girl might be…" The girl was now talking to a black man at a casual distance, and well, there was nothing else about it. Frustrated, he handed the binoculars over to Anatoly and ran his hand over his shaven head.

"The girl is young and attractive," Anatoly finished his sentence for him. "The both of us won't ever know what Makarov sees in her, but we have to give her some credit thus far. After all, no one is guilty until proven innocent."

When faced with Anatoly's logic, Yuri could only let the matter rest for now.

* * *

"Chemo"

Task Force 141

Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro

* * *

"Makarov is planning something big in a year's time and he means to execute it," Anya told Chemo, who had been tasked to retrieve whatever Intel she had this time. In fact, they were lucky this time in the manner that there was no one of Makarov's men around them. "Tourists" heavily covered in Russian tattoos could be spotted a mile away, and it was no use to Makarov if he continued to display his distrust of her in such an open manner, not after she confronted him back in Moscow. "He contacted a huge arms dealer, one 'Alex the Red' to provide him a shipment so huge that this Alex has to stop all other operations until it is completed."

Chemo's expression remained unchanged. He was supposed to be trying to flirt with her. Although there were none of Makarov's men close by, it did not mean that they would not be watched from afar. "Any more specifics?" he asked Anya. "Dates, numbers?"

"None at all," Anya replied. "It was shared only between Makarov and Alex the Red. I'll try to figure out as much as I can."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Anya, we know that you're doing your best already. Take it slow, girl, it's gonna be real hard on you if you force everything down."

A bitter smile emerged on her face. "Hey, if I could stomach having sex with that psychopath, I can do anything," she told him. In truth, she was only trying to reassure herself that she would be able to survive the entire mission.

"You don't know how happy the old man was after he knew that you managed to get into Makarov's pants," Chemo rolled his eyes. "He thinks that in a few more nights you'll have Makarov wrapped up around your finger."

Anya frowned. What did Shepherd think she was? "I… don't want to talk about him right now, Chemo," she said through gritted teeth. Shepherd was… downright merciless in his attitude towards his subordinates. She was in this mission because it was her job, her responsibility, because there was no other way that the 141 could get as close to Makarov as she was now… Not because Shepherd thinks that Makarov could be so easily deceived by the mere act of sex with her…

"I understand," Chemo said. He knew that it must have been hard to be someone in her position. "Heck, if I were a chick, I sure as hell would've kicked his ass when he proposed this shit-ass operation to me. You've got a lotta guts, Anya. We're all rootin' for ya."

Finally, a genuine smile graced her features. "Thanks," she replied. "Tell the boys back home that I miss them."

"Sure thing," Chemo said and rose from the sand. "Meanwhile, we still got a show to put on for them Ultranationalists. Care for an ice cream with a handsome stranger?"

Anya chuckled. "No thanks," she rejected him, shaking her head. "I'm a terrorist's paramour now, apparently. I might as well act like one."


	10. The Progression

Cpt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Landbase – Location Classified

* * *

It had been four months since Chemo came back with Intel from Anya that Makarov was planning something that needed a vast shipment of weaponry and armor. It has been four months since they met Anya face to face, because she started to realize that the only way she could contact them was by herself and her own terms.

Throughout those four months, they had made extraordinary strides from Anya's Intel. They had snuffed out many safehouses of Makarov's accomplices, and killed a sizable amount of soldiers in his military arm. However, their progress should have been… greater. There was an improvement in the results of each operation, there were times when the teams sent out returned victorious, but it was just… not enough. It was as if Makarov knew that they were all coming, using one operation as a diversion for the other.

However, they still had one problem. Makarov still acted almost singly, and although he had his own advisors, subordinates and allies, he never even gave the big picture to them. Anya almost always had to piece bits and pieces of information together to reach a viable conclusion, and it was still… shaky. They could have done better with Intel that was a little more solid.

Still, it was the best that Anya could do. It turned out that she was right, that Makarov still kept her at arms' length even though they had come to know each other rather intimately. But the fact that she was able to keep Makarov visiting her bed exclusively already revealed that Makarov might genuinely be interested in her as a woman. It was a breakthrough that everyone knew that she had to achieve in order to remain in the terrorist's good graces, because her responsibilities in his faction had grown larger and larger.

"_I have discovered that as long as I act like myself, Makarov will be less suspicious of me…_"

Those were the words that Anya had told MacTavish when she phoned back to the landbase using a secure line, along with the customary information regarding Makarov's actions that she was supposed to give them. She was supposed to call them again this week, but she did not do so, and he was getting worried. It was not like Anya to be late for anything.

"Captain, you gotta come see this," a random soldier's voice rang in his head, and he turned towards the direction of the owner of the voice. "Anya sent us a package…"

MacTavish rose from his office chair and went to the briefing room, where several amongst them, including Shepherd were already opening whatever she had sent to them. It was a thick envelope, filled to the brim with pieces of paper written in ink. Each and every single page was covered with whatever Anya has seen, heard or experienced, or so they seemed.

"Wait, how do we know that this is genuine?" Ghost asked. "It could be forged for all we know…" He was not being pessimistic, but it did not hurt to be a little more cautious.

"It's her," Shepherd answered a few minutes later, after a few leafs of paper were scanned with present samples of her handwriting they had in their database. "They're so small that I can't read them without glasses," he uttered beneath his breath as well, drawing a small bout of laughter from the rest of the boys. Having said that, he pulled out his reading glasses from his pocket and began to read whatever she had sent them. The rest of the papers were distributed around so that they could cover more material in less time.

Ozone was the first one who found something noteworthy. "Says here that Makarov's deciding whether to get an airbase in Xinjiang, China or Kazakhstan," he read, scanning through the small stack that he got. "Why would Makarov need an airbase for?"

Meat shrugged. "Beats me," he answered. "Maybe he wants to keep a few private jets?"

"Not likely," Archer replied. "That bastard's rich, but he doesn't use his money on himself. Almost always travel using forged passports, doesn't he?"

"I've got one that says that he's now buying off more and more generals in Eurasia," MacTavish said. That was not good at all. With more generals at his side, the greater his military power would be. It was already evident that most Russian military executives were already in league with him, but if even those from other governments would join him, he would be almost impossible to stop.

Airbases to the south of Russia, the corruption of military generals… All this meant that Makarov was getting more and more aggressive, and he would soon be ready to strike.

"Hey, listen to this," Ghost announced when he came across a piece of paper written in red ink while the rest were in blue or black. "'By protecting his own power so jealously, I think that Makarov seeks to place himself as an autocratic leader of Russia. By no means is he a thug as we've all thought he was. He is educated and refined, he knows how to run a country to suit his own needs, and he will if he can.' Wait… wasn't Makarov a soldier all his life?"

"Negative, Riley," Shepherd answered. "He graduated from Frunze Military Academy, where only the best of the best entered. He learned Russian and military history there, along with several languages. In short, Makarov was _trained_ to be a leader, and he's being a damned good one right now."

MacTavish sighed and rubbed his temples. "This means that we're all in deep shite if Makarov gets what he wants," he concluded. He did not even what to imagine what kind of mess the world would look like if that even happened.

"That's why we're here to stop him," Shepherd told them all. In fact, it was the very reason of the foundation of the Task Force 141. "Well boys, you know the drill. Verify all forms of information consolidate them and brainstorm. I want an op proposal done within two days."

They all saluted Shepherd as he left the briefing room, and got to work. "Ya know, the Intel this time seems to be a little… conceptual," Chemo commented. "It's all 'bout planning and shit like that…"

"Means that Makarov's on the drawing-board again, trying to figure out his next step," Ghost added. "Did Anya say anything about any op anywhere?" No one gave a positive answer. It only meant one thing, that there was a bottleneck in Makarov's operations. This gave them more time to plan and less time to react to any of his attacks. However, it also posed a danger: there would be so many possibilities that they could never be sure which one would happen in real life.

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen A.K.A. Ultranationalist Codename "Anya"

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Paris, France

* * *

"What do you think of the plan, Anya?" Makarov asked Anya as they were having coffee in a quaint roadside café looking at the Eiffel Tower. "An airbase in Kazakhstan to further our operations… It will go almost undetected by the Americans, and still it would be close enough to Russia and is not as high profile as China."

Anya chuckled and took a sip of coffee. "First of all, you were never subtle at all," she teased him on his decision not to choose the airbase in Xinjiang, looking into his heterochromic eyes, making the almost always tight line of his lips break into something softer. "However, with the expansion of our… assets, we will need a suitable place for them to call home." She was talking about his recent purchase of helicopters and fighter-jets, all of them enough to strike the Eastern Seaboard of the United States if he ever wanted it. His personal army had grown not only in size but in firepower as well.

"Imagine, up in the mountains, where the sun shines the brightest," he continued, his voice now dangerously close to her ear. From afar, they looked like lovers whispering sweet nothings to one another, and she noticed how two passing women giggled at one another at the sight of them. "There would be the cornerstone of our success."

"Your success," she argued. "Once your plans for a better Russia are done I will retire and become a lecturer in a humanities school."

Now, Makarov actually laughed. "Anya," he chided her softly. "You are a woman of great ambition, surely you can see what the world has to offer to you."

She smiled, saying, "The world has already offered me a chance to work with you," and once again, she could feel his eyes on her, his gaze were now the one that she saw back in his Moscow apartment… "I would do everything for a greater Russia, and I will follow you to that end."

"Trust me, all is within sight," he reassured her, taking her hand in his and kissed it. A natural flush spread all over her fair face and she looked away from him, still smiling shyly. He then moved to kiss her forehead, and moved to the crook of her neck to inhale her scent. "I will come to you tonight," he whispered into her ear. "I have another meeting to attend with Viktor, Anatoly will bring you back to the hotel."

"Good luck," she wished him and walked towards Anatoly, who already stopped his car at the nearest parking spot.

* * *

Diary of Maria Allen

Operation Honeypot, circa 2015.

Page 123

_I have been sent to Makarov's side for the fourth month, and I think I already have a grasp of his personality as an individual. _

_Vladimir Makarov is not like Imran Zakhaev, who is inspirational in his own ways; Zakhaev only used his power to get where he wanted to be and the fact that he was supported by the likes of Batkin and Makarov himself, who's a man who commands the respect of thousands because he knows the lowest common denominator: their pain, their suffering, that the government has marginalized them in their own quest for power. He himself had been forgotten by the Red Army when the Soviet Union fell, that is his bone of contention with capitalist Russia. Makarov surpasses Zakhaev because he uses that pain to bind himself to his people, and that's why more and more Russians side with the Ultranationalists._

_It's true that I no longer run operations for him as a sniper and support agent, what I do with him is to plan with him pieces of his plan that he'd assigned me to. But there are such times when we are alone; Makarov refuses to talk about anything regarding our work. He often asks me about my past, and I tell what I can to him. Almost every time, he seems just… fascinated by my formerly mundane life. _

_I know that as a honeypot, this is my mission, to use sex to coax him. However, with Makarov, sex is just one part of the mission, it's not an end. The Intel that I am able to send back happens to be whatever he asks me to do, and what I could find out from the others. I must now be deadly honest to myself... It has been four months since I've left the 141 on this goddamned operation, and I've been sleeping with him for about a few times a week. To say that I'm not attracted to him physically is a lie. I really am. When we're alone, his charisma shows more than ever... He is attentive to a woman's needs and wants, that's all I will allow myself to say, and well, I appreciate that. _

_I guess that a woman in my place has two faces. One to show her targets, to make them believe that she is what they see her as, and the other is her real face… I have no other choice. Since I have discovered that Makarov responds the best when I act more like myself, and not some bright-eyed new recruit only out to please him, I will only be Anya when I'm alone with him, the Anya that the boys back home know… even if I don't really know who am I supposed to be these days. I told 'Tavish that too when I called back the last time I could. He took it rather well, luckily..._

_I guess that's all. I'll write more when I can._

* * *

HAN: I apologize for the lack of action in these few chapters, because I feel like at this stage, Makarov is planning whatever he needs to do in MW3, and we all know that these kinds of plans, of world domination take time. I'm already making in real, real short, teehee. Can a guy really take over the world in 8 months time? We shall see. Heehee. Do tell me what you think of this so far!


	11. The Safehouse

Lt. Simon "Ghost" Riley

Task Force 141

Firebase Phoenix – Afghanistan

* * *

"I don't like this at all," Ghost said to those around him in a low voice. "I'm alright with getting more recruits, but why another Ranger, and more importantly, another Ranger who can be a designated sharpshooter?"

It has been six months since Anya had left for Makarov's side, and she was doing so well that they were now able to at least anticipate Makarov's movements. It was with her Intel that they were able to move so far… It was just unfair that Shepherd sop openly asked them to witness the selection progress of the one that would replace her.

"We can't do anything about that, mate," MacTavish replied. "Shepherd's only doing his job. Anya may fail her mission at any time, and she won't survive if she does." He knew that although the Task Force 141 was a glorified international elite organization, the very reason that they existed was the capture of Makarov. If one way failed, then the other must work. They had to be prepared.

"If anything, we can't make the new guy look like he's Anya's replacement," Meat offered. "He's just another dude who's supposed to be the designated shooter like 'Tavish, Anya and Pr…" He was about to name another, but he knew that no one wanted to remember that name, not out of hate, but out of their reluctance to remember what had befallen that person.

Ghost nodded. "True that," he said, and sighed. He had due reason to be concerned, after all, for Shepherd's habit of recruiting large numbers of soldiers that he deemed fitting to the cause of the 141 came out of the fact that he never cared for his subordinates so long as they served their purpose.

There was a short silence amongst them, and before long, a Sergeant named Gary Sanderson came into the Pit to be tested.

"Let's hope that we get a good one," MacTavish prayed. "I don't want to cover another coffin with another bloody flag."

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen A.K.A. Ultranationalist Codename "Anya"

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Makarov's Safehouse – Caucasus Mountains

* * *

His safehouse was one that she did not, and could not, expect. From the helicopter that they came in, the estate at the foot of the Caucasus Mountains looked like it came out from a postcard. "It's beautiful!" she could not help herself from exclaiming, looking towards Makarov to judge his reaction of her praise. She received a half-smile from him, and she knew that it was the best she was going to get.

Anatoly, who was always in a talking mood agreed with her. "You'll like it even more when you get see the lake when the mist clears up," he added. Without a doubt, Anya's expression brightened immediately when their helicopter made a further descent, nearing the surface of the lake that Anatoly had spoken of.

Such natural beauty was unknown to Anya. In her whole life, she had only known huge cities in her hometown of New York, and the deserts of the Middle East. Even when she was traipsing across Russia with the 141, killing Ultranationalist after Ultranationalist, there was no time to even savor the natural beauty of the countryside at all.

"If you are asking, I didn't kill anyone to obtain this estate," Makarov told her jokingly. At the statement, she raised an eyebrow and he elaborated, "It was my grandfather's, it was handed down to me when he passed before I joined the Spetsnaz."

"Now, it's the center of your operations," Anya continued, looking towards the beautiful house. She knew that on the outside it would be beautiful and pristine, but on the inside… she knew that it would be in complete, but ordered chaos, as were all things that Makarov endeavored in.

They entered the safehouse once the helicopter landed, and Anya took a deep breath mentally, bracing herself for whatever waited for her behind the ornate, wooden doors. Once Anatoly and Makarov opened the door, she was greeted by the sight of men occupying two rows of computers, guns in every visible corner, the voices of heated discussion heard so clearly even from the doorway.

Makarov was planning something big, and she knew that she may the only one who did not know what was going on. The moment he entered into the safehouse, every single one of them stopped what they were doing and greeted him. It was evident that he commanded a great amount of respect from his men; the sheer amount of followers that he had literally reinforced the fact that if she were to try anything to endanger Makarov's life, she would be killed immediately.

"We are glad to have you back, sir," said of them, a man of medium build and height. The way he carried himself was different than how the others did, and immediately from the sight of him Anya knew that he was one of relative importance along the ranks of Makarov and his men.

Makarov nodded and gestured for Anya to come next to him. "I believe that you have not met Anya," he said, introducing Anya to him. He then turned towards Anya and told her, "This is Alexi, my second in command." It turned out that Alexi was the one responsible in overseeing all of Makarov's military operations. Whatever he had to be in charge of would have already been planned by Makarov, and was already in motion. She knew that it would be too find out anything from Alexi, her prime source of information was still Makarov as always.

"It's an honor to finally meet you, Miss Anya," Alexi said, shaking her hand with a smile. He said nothing more, but she knew that he was sizing her up in his mind, for she saw his eyes scanning her up and down as he greeted her. Her sapphire eyes carried judgment as well. She could feel that this man was no less cruel and cunning than Makarov was, however, she could not decipher anything else from just a handshake.

When Alexi returned to his work, Makarov went with him, leaving Anatoly and Viktor to bring her around the house. Indeed, it was large enough to house many more people than those that could be found there, because there were five bedrooms in the least, along with a massive kitchen and dining area. Each and every inch of the establishment reeked of forgotten riches and the bloodshed was to come, and each step she took made her feel more and more uneasy.

There was nothing that she could do, only to hope for the best, and find a way to contact the boys back in the 141.

* * *

Alexi

Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Caucasus Mountains – Makarov's safehouse

* * *

"What are you plans for the girl, sir?" he asked Makarov once Anya was out of earshot. So far, he and his men were the only ones who have not met Anya, and he did not like Yuri's reports on her at all.

"She continues her work with me," Makarov answered. As always, no single operative under Makarov's wing knew the big picture of his plans, only the specific part they were responsible for. Alexi did not know what Anya's function was in Makarov's grand scheme, and it made him even more unsure of her. "Alexi, there is no need for you to question her presence," he added, reading Alexi's mind immediately. "She is here because I am in need of her skills."

Alexi raised an eyebrow. If anything he wanted more clarification on the issue. "Sir, if you wanted an able sniper, we could have easily found one for you," he pressed on, bringing only a sigh from Makarov.

"Anya's talents lie in her ability to project any possible enemy activity," Makarov explained. "She is our third eye, and that's all I will say." He did not like repeating himself, having already justified her position within their ranks to Yuri. He was sure that Yuri would have given Alexi whatever information he needed.

The truth was, Anya had been almost indispensible for the past six months. Any single location could be a chessboard for her, and she could quickly find the advantages and disadvantages of an area. But there was a catch, of course, one that Makarov did not reveal to any of the others. They were successful in any operation that Anya helped to plan, but in those where she did not, in those where she did not play an integral part in, those suffered the greatest losses. The NATO soldiers that encountered they encountered in Malaysia were successful in whatever they endeavored, and nothing could have stopped them at all. Oftentimes, it was Alexi that brought the bad news to him, and he often had this nagging feeling that the girl could be the one responsible for everything that happened.

"However, I will indulge you," Makarov said suddenly, looking over to Alexi, who was busy preparing for their next operation. It was a large one with tremendous repercussions, involving the death of many civilians. Of course, it would be a part of their greater plans, but still, it needed to be pulled off like clockwork. "Let's say, hypothetically, if Anya was really a spy, as Yuri suspected, what would you do when you discovered that fact?"

Alexi did not understand why Makarov was even asking that question. "I would find out who she really is and then kill her," he answered. It was what anyone would have done, to prevent the spy from doing any more damage to their organization and from marring their chances of future successes.

"That is where you leave no 'Plan B' for yourself, Alexi," Makarov chided mildly before leaving Alexi and walking up the stairs that led to the main bedrooms. Alexi could only scratch his head and return to his work. He believed that all will be revealed in time, and certainly, that snake that Makarov always kept close to him would soon reveal her fangs. When she does, he would most certainly be the one to sting her with her own poison.

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen A.K.A. Ultranationalist Codename "Anya"

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Makarov's Safehouse – Caucasus Mountains

* * *

"Your right hand man doesn't really like me, am I right?" Anya asked Makarov when he got into the master bedroom. Anatoly and Viktor had just told her that she was to share it with Makarov for the most obvious of reasons. The most obvious sign from Alexi was the lack of warmth in his eyes, and his… apprehension upon first looking at her. She knew that he did not welcome her at all.

"Give him some time," Makarov explained. "He isn't used to working with a woman." He knew that she was not at all offended with Alexi's reaction to her, but those were words that needed to be said, even if they were alone. There was still a wall between the two of them, each of them guessing the other's next move within the confines of their own minds. He had to admit, being so physically close to her, yet knowing that her mind was far, far away from where they were at that moment, it gave him a certain thrill, especially when he tried to anticipate whatever was going in that head of hers.

Anya sat down on his bed and sighed. She knew that there was more to Alexi's suspicion towards her, that it was more than the fact that all men were threatened by the thought of a woman being capable to do whatever was it they did best. "Well, it doesn't matter," she said, standing up once again, looking around the relatively large bedroom. "Our paths would not cross in our lines of work anyways."

"Do not be so sure of this, Anya," Makarov warned. "Who knows, perhaps one day you will work together…"

"Then you will be the one ordering it," she continued absently, looking at the books he had scattered all over the room. She was right; of course, he was an educated man despite his rather savage tactics. The paintings in his room she recognize as the work of masters of ages long gone, and the single volume titled _Philosophy, Politics and Poetry_ spoke many, many things about him. "Anyways, I don't want to talk about work anymore," she said after stretching her body lazily, a conscious effort in making the light from the windows shine through her white blouse, subtly revealing the color of the black silk bustier she wore beneath it.

Whether he was a bloodthirsty war-mongerer, or a genius with a penchant of sordid methods to be deployed in politics and warfare, he was still a man. Anya knew it well enough because the next thing Makarov did was to stop her from entering the bathroom after she had located a towel for herself. She knew that he saw what she meant for him to see and bit her lip when he approached her from behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Do you think your good friend Alexi will back down when he realizes that I'm in fact your paramour?" she teased him, turning around to face him, her fingers buried in his dark hair.

Makarov kept his silence and neared his mouth to her ear. "Why don't you try it?" he whispered, tipping her chin for a kiss that she readily gave. "I have not touched you at all since Paris…"

She smirked, and slowly pulled away from him. "I wouldn't want to risk being shot at," she told him, and ran into the bathroom as fast as she could, locking the door behind her. She knew that Makarov would not have mercy on her the moment she got out of the bathroom, especially since she teased him so. It was the effect that she needed, to prove to herself that she was still in control of herself that she was not slipping out of control, that she still had the ability to resist his advances if and when she wanted to do so.


	12. The Dilemma

Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Task Force 141

Siberia – Suspected Ultranationalist Outpost

* * *

It was his first mission in the 141, and he sure as hell would not want to mess it up. They had received Intel that there was a massive weapons cache located in Siberia used by Makarov and his goons. If they could blot it out of the map, it would mean that they would be able to stall Makarov's operations for a good four months, if the Intel was solid, of course.

"Take it easy lad," MacTavish told him when he saw Roach fidgeting about, looking out the Pave Low's window every few seconds. He remembered what it was like being the FNG, oh yes, but that was a great understatement. Everyone in the 141 knew of his exploits during the six days of the Second Russian Civil War, and he knew that he was the only one who was highly lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you interpreted the situation) to have been given such… opportunity.

Roach heaved out a labored sigh and straightened up. "Yes sir," he replied, and focused his attention on the rest of the team instead. Two of them were sleeping and the rest of them were still preparing for the mission, inspecting their weapons, poring over the maps of the surrounding area, filled with notes regarding their operation.

He was an Army Ranger, an infantryman. He was clearly not used to this kind of mission, one that needed stealth and finesse. He had done relatively well with the team in a few mock-operations since he had joined the 141 with the other Army Ranger operatives, but still, he was still… unsure of himself.

"Happens to every Ranger the old man sends us," Archer offered, casting a knowing look towards MacTavish. "You'll get the hang of it… eventually."

That last word made Roach gulp. Such was the practice in every country's armed forces, to inspire as much fear into the FNG as possible. Gone were his connotations that the Brits in the 141 would be better than the Americans. He was wrong, of course, too damned wrong. But, it was all good clean fun, or so he hoped.

"Right, time to get back into the office," MacTavish announced, and the rest of team began to move towards him as he started his briefing of the mission. "According to the latest Intel, Makarov has accepted a rather huge weapons shipment here to further his operations in Europe. We're gonna get in and put a great big hole in his storeroom to delay his operations to buy us enough time to figure out is next move. Ghost, take over the specifics."

Ghost nodded, and cleared his throat. "Makarov's boys don't know that we're comin', so we need to be as quiet as possible. Archer and Toad will prove sniper cover while Team Alpha will provide the main assault while Team Bravo gets in and make sure that the caches are destroyed by planting C4 into the caches."

"Roach, Rook, you're with me on Team Bravo," MacTavish said. "Scarecrow, and Teddy, you're with Ghost on Alpha. Good luck gentlemen, Makarov deserves a vacation."

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen / Ultranationalist Codename "Anya"

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Siberia – Suspected Ultranationalist Outpost.

* * *

If she thought that she was going to live a life as Makarov's agent with a desk job for a few weeks, she was wrong. Within mere days of her arrival in Makarov's safehouse in the Caucasus Mountains, she was sent to Siberia, where she was tasked by Makarov to guard a certain outpost from any intruding factions trying to take out their weapons caches. She knew that it was another test by Makarov, much like the operation in Malaysia. She was the one who told the 141 that Makarov was waiting for a large shipment of weapons from Alex the Red.

"Let's see your true mettle, Anya," Alexi told her as she stood on the viewing platform of the watch tower in the outpost. The skies were clear with neither an aviated vehicle nor cloud in sight. She knew that it was not for long that the 141 would come. She needed to find a way to put as much distance between herself and the boys back home, and still make it look as if she had been caught unawares. Both Makarov and the 141 had to go back home with something, and both parties must not know that she was there no matter what the cost. "Makarov told me that you were an all-rounded operative."

Anya forced a smile as she looked towards Alexi, the exact one that she often used on Makarov when they were alone. "Your suspicions are unfounded," she replied. "I am Dimitri Batkin's last protégé before he died. My mettle has already been proven when Makarov allowed me to stay by his side for this long."

She knew that those words would not endear Alexi to her at all. She did not need him as an ally, after all, and she knew that he would not dare lift a finger against her without Makarov's word. He was hers to offend in any way possible. She continued to scour the skies with her binoculars, knowing that the 141 would never come through the front door. Appearances had to be kept, after all.

"We shall see how you will avert this disaster then," Alexi challenged. After all, he was the one that requested to Makarov that she helped with the defenses of the outpost. No one had seen the eventuality of attack before Makarov was there to remind them of it and in his embarrassment and self-anger, he suggested that Anya came to the outpost to remedy the situation. She immediately agreed to do it, without knowing that Shepherd would order them to attack the outpost as soon as she sent out the Intel via a secure, untraceable phone-line. She did not know if Alexi was just being a difficult bastard or he really was that thick to leave the outpost so sparsely guarded, but she knew that if either side gained victory, she would lose her credibility from either side…

This was an operation she knew she had to fail, or negate the winnings and losses of both sides. She did not know how she was supposed to do that, but she knew that it was what she absolutely needed to do. "You don't need to worry," she said, gesturing at the jamming tower that the men were setting up in the center of the outpost. "This will render all their communications useless once they come in here. Their operations will be an utter disaster if they tried anything."

The lifeline of a soldier in the field was, at all times, his or her connection back to the base, where their progress was being monitored. When there was no way for the solider and his or her leader, then they were most probably doomed unless a miracle happened. Anya hoped for the sake of her real colleagues that they really had a miracle with them.

"How did you discover the frequency the other side is using?" Alexi asked her cautiously.

"We just have to block any frequency other than our own," she answered, lowering her binoculars. "I just hope that the tower is operational before anything happens." She did not want to have to kill anyone that day, especially not those from the 141.

* * *

"We'll take this nice and slow," MacTavish announced the moment all of them parachuted down from their Pave Low, not far from the outpost. Stealth was highly prized in almost all of their operations, and he knew that the sole Army Ranger in the operation was a little unsure of himself at the time. He knew that there was literally no way to get around that, but to actually do more of them, because practice sessions could only bring a person so far.

"Captain, I'm getting a whole lotta static here," Roach said the very moment the outpost was in sight. He was sure that he was not the only one experiencing it, because he could see several others fiddling with their comms as well.

"Bravo Six… what … hell… on?" Shepherd's voice could be heard in faint bursts over the comms. "Can't… see…"

Ghost sighed. "Looks like someone knew that we were comin'," he said, looking over the walls of the outpost. "They have a jamming tower smack in the center of the place."

MacTavish ran his hand along his Mohawk and noted the existence of the tower. "We'll have to take it down first then," he said. "Change of plans, gentlemen, make destroying the jamming tower our primary objective." He did not even need to mention why it was so because everyone knew why indeed. "We'll continue with the rest of the mission after that."

* * *

"They're here," Anya said the very moment she notice a few dots that were supposed to be their men being wiped off the radar. From the very fact that about two men were missing from the proverbial back-door, she knew that MacTavish was leading the team. It was very much his style to enter where no one was looking and then continue with a bang. "Protect the jamming tower, I'll bet that it's the first thing that they'll blow up. Make sure that none of them gets into the caches!"

Alexi nodded and barked his orders to the men while she quickly donned her Kevlar vest and took the nearest weapon her into her hands. "Anya, where the hell are you going?" he asked her.

"I want a piece of the action as well," she replied and quickly climbed down the ladder. "I'll see you when all of them are dead." It was a risk that she knew she had to take. She would try to contact MacTavish and/or the boys then and there. Just when her two feet reached the ground, the Ultranationalist soldier immediately next to her was shot dead. She had no choice but to return the fire, and pray that whoever fired it was able to evade her shot.

Her prayers were answered when her shot entered missed the shooter by about fifteen inches. It was Ghost.

She quickly took cover, and looked for others that she could see. MacTavish was there, she could spot that Mohawk from miles away, and so were Scarecrow, Rook, Toad and Archer… However, there were a few faces that she could not recognize at all. They must have been gotten into the 141 after she had been inserted as the honeypot.

They were all heading for the jamming tower, and she moved towards it as well, making sure that she was well-hidden in the shadows cast by the high walls of the outpost, as well the crates that were scattered around the outpost. Most of them were filled with sandbags in a weak attempt to confuse the enemy on which was which, but she knew that no one would be so thick as to even suspect that anyone would buy into so flimsy an attempt to deceive the enemy.

"Alexi, too many of your men are at the jamming tower!" she exclaimed into her comms, making sure that Alexi listened to every word she said. "They need to be at the caches before the intruders see through the deception!" Almost immediately, no more men emerged towards the courtyard where the jamming tower was. Those that were about to come out quickly returned to their original positions, and she made it an extra effort to speak those words within earshot to the new 141 member who seemed to hang on to every single word of hers. There was no doubt that he understood Russian.

"Captain, the caches are below us!" one of them shouted towards MacTavish who was standing not far from her.

"Right, Ghost, get your team down there. We'll take out the jamming tower!" the Captain said, changing the plans one more time. He had really hoped that it was for the last. With all due speed, Ghost and his team took the nearest flight of stairs down towards the underground floors where the weapons were stored.

Anya knew that if she were to follow Ghost and the others downstairs, each room would be filled with cameras and she would be a prime suspect for the success of the 141 there. She had to remain on the ground, and she had to put up a show of sheer futility in stopping MacTavish and his team from destroying the jamming tower.

"Secure the tower!" she shouted to Alexi's men around her, feigning to shoot Scarecrow in the shoulder. "Make sure that the intruders do not regain their communications!"

She was sure that with those words, MacTavish could have heard her voice. He would have known that she was there with them by then. Before long, an explosion was heard and there were shouts from Alexi's subordinates that one of the caches had been destroyed. There were four more in the outpost, and she knew that one cache was a loss that Makarov had to suffer in order for the 141 to return with at least some results.

"Roach, hit the button!" MacTavish shouted towards the operative that Anya could not recognize, and she used it as a cue to run as far as she could from the tower. It seemed to her that the one named Roach had been able to plant C4 onto the tower amidst the initial shock of their "surprise" arrival.

With communications back on, the Pave Low that was supposed to extract the members of the 141 back quickly neared the outpost. "Bravo Six, you have to get the boys back here!" the pilot said, "There are too many incoming tangos! Hop in before the courtyard gets too hot!"

By that time, Ghost and his team had already emerged, and were all ready to leave.

One by one, they quickly climbed up the rope ladder that hung from the helicopter, leaving just as quickly as they had come. Makarov would not be pleased at all to receive the reports that a quarter of his weapon shipment would not arrive at their intended destination at all, and to make matters worse, Alexi knew that it was his mistake for placing more people to guard the jamming tower than the weapons caches.

However, he would not allow himself to take the blame without Anya confessing to her share. If she was so brilliant a strategist, she could have seen what was coming, and told him to position more men in the caches, rather than when the intruders have already entered the outpost.

He would make sure that the blame did not go to him only.


	13. The Stagnation

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen / Ultranationalist Codename "Anya"

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Sibera – Shared Ultranationalist Safehouse

* * *

"You have utterly disappointed me, Anya," Makarov said to her as he circled both her and Alexi. Although it was true that Anya was able to prevent the intruders from destroying the other weapons caches, but he had made it really clear that they were to remain intact no matter what the costs. The cache that had been gone would set their operations back for about a month. They would not have enough resources to continue at all.

Her head dropped at his words, and fixed her eyes on the ground. She knew that there was no way that she would be able to worm her way out of that situation. She had Shepherd to face back home as well. "I have no excuse," she told Makarov. She knew that before she came into Makarov's office, he had been extremely… displeased at Alexi, who was in there before her. He hardly ever shouted, but with Alexi just now… It was the first time that she had heard him being so angry at someone, and she knew that she would receive the same fate as well.

However, Makarov's voice did not rise at all. In fact, he tipped her chin with her fingers and added, "I expected you to take command of the situation in the outpost, Anya, not act as his subordinate." Disbelief on her part was immediately visible, and his expression softened. "It was a test for you, and although you were able to drive the intruders back and salvage the situation, you fell short because you did not see the opportunity to bring yourself further up. Alexi was supposed to defend that outpost for the past three months, and still nothing was done to fortify it. You used the idea of installing a jamming device, which most probably saved us from further losses, yet you did not place the blame on Alexi who focused his men on the jamming tower and not in the caches. You were the one who changed the focus. Why didn't you take the credit?"

"It is simple… Alexi is your second in command," she replied, looking at him with suspicion. As always, she could not figure out what was going in his mind, but this time, there was this sinking feeling that came with her uncertainty. By then, she thought she was already able to at least act as if she understood him, but she could not. "He must have been through more than life and death with you…"

"Still, my dear, he is replaceable," Makarov continued. "A woman with talent like yours cannot be wasted. You will need more leadership experience if you are to be a greater help to me." He looked straight into her eyes, waiting for her reaction. Anya was rarely betrayed by her emotions, but he knew that whatever happened in the outpost was enough to put her off guard, forcing her to think on her feet. Whatever response that she would give in that moment would be a response that was genuine.

She took a deep breath and shook her head. "No, Makarov," she said, her usual expression quickly returning, a sign that she already had the grasp of the course of things. "This is the true test…" She knew that he was testing her loyalty, if she would be willing to use dirty tactics to remove anyone before her that seemed to be her rivals. Through her eyes, he could see the relief that washed over her, despite her futile attempts to remain emotionally neutral at the time.

"As always, Anya, your sight of things is extraordinary," he praised, placing his hand on her shoulder. Such a gesture usually spoke great volumes of how a young newcomer had proved herself, however, between the two of them, it was a mind-game as always. Those words were only just words, what was truly going on, was in their heads. Those words could be interpreted in any way, and how they acted upon them revealed their psyche to one another. On a piece of paper, Makarov wrote a Chinese phrase, consisting of two words: 义气. "Do you know what it means?" he asked her.

During her days in college, Anya had studied many languages, but predominantly English and Russian. There were others that she had learnt, but she only remembered how to speak them, and not write them, due to lack of use. Chief among them was Chinese. She shook her head, indicating that she did not.

"It's translated as 'brotherhood' or 'loyalty'," Makarov explained, "and you have proven to me this phrase can be seen from your actions. Although, what I've said earlier does apply. Sometimes, even brotherhood needs to be sacrificed in the name of doing what is needed to be done. The Chinese values this phrase so much to the extent of worshipping an ancient general to this day, because he epitomized everything that came to their meaning."

His words were those that came from his heart; that much she knew. She was a soldier, as he had once served in the Red Army. Brotherhood, loyalty, those were the ties that tied a soldier to those around them. Without them, they were nothing but the beasts that they all killed day by day… From those words that he had said, she knew Makarov to be nothing like what the world knew him to be, that he was a man who valued the bonds between those he saw his own, those that he could trust.

"I understand," she said, and looked into his eyes. "Is there anything else you want me to do?"

Makarov shook his head. "None more for today," he answered. "But tomorrow, I will unveil something else, something that will bring us a step closer to our goals despite our prior setback…" He was about to continue when his phone started to ring. "You may go, Anya," he dismissed her before taking the call.

She nodded and turned towards the door, meeting Alexi, who had a scowl on his face. "How did it go?" he asked her, knowing full well that Anya did not suffer the same fate as he did. She did not answer, only moving past him without any eye-contact. That move aggravated him, and he would not want to let her go after utterly disrespecting him. Before she was out of his sight, he took her by her wrist and pulled her back towards him. "You will answer me when I ask you a question."

Anya scoffed, and faced him. "I don't need to answer to you," she told him, eyes widening in her anger. Retrieving her hand from his grasp, she tried to walk away, only to have him push her against the wall.

"You think that because Makarov listens to you that you are able to step over me?" Alexi demanded, twisting her wrist this time, making sure to look at her wince as he held her in that manner. "Let me tell you this, woman, you are nothing but his whore…"

This was the last straw for Anya and she retaliated. "I am not here because I can hold a man in bed, I am here because I am being trained to be Makarov's new strategist," she hissed, using her prior conversation with Makarov as her leverage. She knew that they were both within earshot of Makarov, who had not emerged from his office, and she knew that with their raised voices, he could have heard every single word between them. "Your job is to make sure that what I plan comes into action, and nothing more."

In a huff, she left, leaving Alexi even angrier than ever. She did not look back, and continued walking until she had reached her quarters in her facility. It was with those four walls that she could at least loosen her expression, and take in a deep breath. That was all that she could do, for she knew that there was a possibility that she could be watched at that very moment itself, but she also knew that such a common act of relief would not undergo too much scrutiny.

Without anything more to do, she stretched and began to take off most of her outer clothing, before flopping herself on the meager bed. She had many, many things to think about that night, chief amongst them was Makarov's "new operation". It did not make sense of him to start something new when he had been planning for the first one for almost a year now. Unless, unless he would open that long stream of activity that was planned with one single act that could rile the world…

She could only hope that she could stop Makarov in time if anything happened. If only she could just get inside his head, but she knew that unless she could decode his train of thought, she was only able to follow it, and try to deduce what was in his head. By the time she had fed the information back State-side, and the crackers in the CIA could crack it, he was already on his next venture…

She was tired of this stagnated progress. She knew that there had to be something that she could actually understand… What were those weapons used for, why did he acquire an airbase in Kazakhstan… There was a pattern to this, she just knew it...

"Am I interrupting you?" a familiar voice broke her train of thought. She looked up and found that it was none another than Makarov, who had already closed the door behind him. She was not going to make herself look like the victim of Alexi's actions, thus, she shook her head.

"If you think that I'm trying to find out ways of killing your right hand man, you're wrong," she told him as he approached her. Her tone of voice was neutral, and she smiled when he leaned in to kiss her forehead. They were alone, and she knew what to do in situations like this. Well, there was literally nothing else to do. "However, if whatever he's doing gives me more chances for this…", she stopped halfway to plant a kiss on Makarov's neck, "I will gladly oblige."

Truthfully, she knew that the only way she understood Makarov was in the carnal way. She knew what words to say to him, and frankly, that was the only reason why she was still there. However, as the days passed, she realized that even Makarov was starting to grasp what aroused her, the words, the actions, and the sights. At that moment, he was caressing her thigh in circular motions, which literally sent tingles throughout her body.

"My dear, you need to only ask," he replied just before their lips met. Now, he meant business. As his lips devoured hers, he started to remove most of his clothing with her help, only to almost rip the ones off her. There was no need for much foreplay, at times like these when they knew what the other wanted. The sight of her without the customary clothing of his faction, be it business suits or armored vests, only in her lingerie and a camisole, was already enough to arouse him. Whatever he saw in her, she did not know, but she knew that at least she was the woman he bedded nigh exclusively throughout her time with him.

"I'm such a lucky girl," she whispered into his ear as Makarov began to ravage her entire body with kisses, causing her to moan each time he touched her skin with his lips. By the time she felt his manhood press against the outer walls of her vagina, she knew that there was no turning back. "Make love to me… now."

The very moment those words left her mouth, he rammed into her at full strength, making her walk the fine line between pain and pleasure. From that time on, there was nothing to stop him, nothing at all. She smiled wickedly and changed their positions, while he was still within her, and began to take control, moving her body up and down his shaft, his hands kneading her breasts as she looked into his mismatched eyes. It was a sensual time, much like their first encounter back in Moscow.

Within a few more moments, they were then spooned against each other. Entering her from behind, Makarov held her in his arms as she turned her head to kiss him, their joined moans muted only so slightly. But suddenly, they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Makarov," said the voice from the other side. It was Anatoly. "Forgive me for interrupting, but you have to see this."

"What is it?" Makarov asked, his brows already furrowed in a frown. He was already getting dressed with Anya's assistance. Anatoly only answered that it was for his eyes only. It was obvious that it was something that Anya could not know of, and she did not press the matter further. "I will come back," he told her, giving her a brief kiss to indicate his intention.

"Just go," she replied. "I'll be right here." She saw him smirk on the thought of continuing their passion, and once he left, she started to rub her temples. Things were not going as she had planned, with one surprise after the other. If it continued on, she did not know if her mission could even continue… She was afraid that it would be a matter of time before any more innocents suffered because of her delay in progress.

Nevertheless, she knew that she had to persevere, no matter the cost. She just had to.

* * *

HAN: Hey there! I am here to announce that I now have a Beta-reader! YAY! Hopefully, she can turn the tide for me! Her handle is itachislover829 so give it a round of applause for her! (APPLAUSE) From here, the fic is going to approach the storyline of MW2, and of course, I will need to know if you guys want me to keep the lives of "ye goode, olde cap'n" or not. I guarantee you that Roach, Ghost and Makarov are definite goners in this fic. ^.^ Well then, thanks for reading, and do tell me what you think!


	14. The Revelation

Vladimir Makarov

Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Siberia – Shared Ultranationalist Safehouse

* * *

Yuri was the one who summoned Makarov, not Anatoly. "I hope I didn't interrupt you," he said as Makarov entered with a sour expression on his face. There was no doubt that he was with his favorite, Anya, and from Anatoly's reluctance to call him.

"You didn't unless it's really important," Makarov answered gruffly. Coitus interruptus was not a good thing to undergo at all. "What did you find?"

His friend only sighed. "Actually, you should ask me who found me," he answered. "I was sent this envelope by a strange elderly man before I came here. He didn't tell me who he was, but it was extremely clear to him that I know you. He told me to give it to you no matter the cost."

Makarov shifted his gaze onto the envelope that Yuri had pushed into the negative space between them, and eyed it rather suspiciously. It looked like it contained a whole stack of paper, and when he opened it, out poured every single piece of paper. Its contents seemed to be the files of a soldier, an American soldier. To be exact, those files were of a US Army Ranger. He made a gesture, signaling that all except Yuri had to leave his office immediately.

"Maria… Allen," he read the name that appeared on the first page on the files after his men had put it together again. "Callsign: Anya, graduate of a top university, and transferred to the Task Force 141 in 2013." The Task Force 141… it was the faction that they had met in Malaysia. He had seen the patches on their uniform, it was a hybrid symbol, married with many elements from the symbols of the various military factions that its combatants come from. A skull hovering above a winged sword, surrounded by laurel leaves. He knew the winged sword; it was the primary image of the British SAS, half of the team, Bravo Six, that killed the Zakhaev family. "We were right all along, our Anya is a spy."

He could see that Yuri's mouth literally went agape when he said those last words. Yuri did not believe them at all. "You knew?" he asked Makarov. "You knew that, and you asked me to follow her every move for so long?"

Makarov only chuckled. It stunned Yuri, even after the man had known him for years. Only Anya knew that expression, and he knew that she was the first one who realized that there was a certain method to how he worked. She never did put it across to him, but he knew that she knew, from how she acted, how she carried herself. She never asked any questions, she just did whatever she was asked to. Her only problem was, he gathered, that she was unable to find that exact method.

"In any case, our dear girl is most likely aware that she's being followed," he answered, still reading her files. Every single operation that she was in was there, and from there, he knew that the way he saw her, it was actually the truth of her. Every thought of her he had in his mind, it was true. "Anya has never made any mistake, hasn't she?" On the contrary, it was this very reason that aroused Makarov's suspicions in the first place. She was a perfect soldier, not the mindless goons he had as combatants, highly-trained for the sole purpose of combat. She fought because she wanted to, not because others said that she must.

Yuri was oblivious by that time. "Do you know how many of our men died because of her actions?" he asked Makarov. "How can you be so calm?"

"Much must be sacrificed in our great cause," Makarov defended. "Besides, we have taken the lives of many of her brothers as well. We are even." It was blatantly obvious from the look on Yuri's face that he did not believe that Makarov would even say such words to him, however, Yuri did not have Makarov's intellect, and he could not follow his old friend's thought processes as well. Makarov could fathom how and why Anya had given up her advances on him very, very early on. "Now do you know why Anya took that bullet for me?" If it was not the fact that she wanted Makarov to trust her, Yuri did not know why else. "She wanted all of you, not me, to fall for her. Anya knows that she cannot get anything from me, which explains why she used people like Alexi, Viktor and Anatoly instead to get her information. She doesn't even need to guess."

Yuri was in disbelief, and to recover from the shock caused by whatever Makarov uttered, he took a seat. There were many things that he discovered that he knew that he could not handle. He suspected that Anya was a spy, he really did, but throughout his time following her, he began to realize that she was less than what she first seemed to be… Secondly, Makarov was acting as if nothing had happened after the fact that Anya was a spy was sent across so plainly, that someone from her side actually wanted him to know this; it set of some signals that he was not personally comfortable to confront at that moment regarding Makarov.

"So, what do we do next?" It was Yuri's last question, and Makarov answered it just as simply.

"We wait," he uttered. "Whoever betrayed her to us obviously had access to her files, so they must be her superiors. Imagine, Yuri, an American commander that wishes to betray his or her country. There's no doubt that they are clearly interested in what we are doing. My only concern now is how our Anya would react to this; she would be utterly devastated when she knows what has transpired. We must hope, for her sake, that she does not give herself away when that happens."

* * *

(Three Weeks Later)

Maria "Anya" Allen A.K.A. Ultranationalist Codename "Anya"

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Makarov's Apartment – Moscow

* * *

It was ironic that the two of them were watching a BBC special on him, the crimes that he had committed, how he had gone from a Red Army soldier to the international terrorist he was now. "One would expect the MI6 to just drop in on your doorstep now," she joked to him.

"They can try," he replied. He looked at the wall-clock, which pointed a few more minutes to 10 o'clock at night. It was time for him to leave. He had told her that he was meeting a very important friend, and she suspected that it was Yuri, who she had a gut instinct that was the one who was watching her all the while. "I have to leave now, my dear," he told her, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead before he rose from the sofa. When they were alone, she was not his agent, but in her words, his paramour. It was a romantic notion, of course, yet nothing more than a fantasy. She was there because in the very least, he was having sex with her, and it benefited her because his subordinates, his men, were more willing to divulge whatever they had to her, as much as they could in fact, without giving away what they had done (because it was well known that Makarov had made all his operatives swear in secrecy not to reveal whatever they knew to _anyone_).

She smiled as she closed the door for him. She had no chance at all to follow him as she was being followed, and sighed, knowing that without Makarov's men around her, she could not prod and pry who he was meeting. Besides, she never ever managed to ask anything from them regarding Yuri, whom she suspected he was meeting. Personally, she had never even met him before.

Left with nothing to do, she decided to sit at her own table in her room to write down anything she had discovered, as she did every night. From the doorway, she walked towards her room, only to realize that the door to Makarov's study was ajar. She knew that there were no cameras in that room, but around it, so she did not enter it at all. But, as if it was a trick from Mother Nature, there was a gust of wind that blew from the open window and the stack of papers nearest to the window were scattered across the floor, some even floated somehow to the living-room.

There was nothing more innocent than stopping to help another to picked up some fallen pieces of paper, and she decided to go into his study. Turning the lights on, she crouched down to pick the pieces of paper up. But what she saw on them shocked her to no end, so much so that she dropped the piece of paper and received a slight paper cut.

On that white piece of paper was the emblem of the 141. How did Makarov come by this? Was she discovered? At that moment in time, she could barely breathe, and if Makarov returned at any time… she knew that she would be done for. She had never; ever let slip that she was not what she had painted herself to be… Not in the duration that she was there.

After the fact that she was already compromised sank in her mind, she knew that appearances must still be kept, however, not without a fight. No matter how much she did not want to believe that she may be compromised, or even worse, betrayed, she still needed this stack of papers as evidence. With her camera-phone, she took pictures of the mess, and uncovered a few pages that made up her biographical data.

Finally, she discovered the page that chilled her blood the most. It was a note from Shepherd with his signature, indicating that he would meet Makarov to discuss their future plans in Moscow at on that very day, at 10 p.m. This note, along with the stack of paper, was sent three weeks ago.

Makarov had never trusted her with anything important, other than translation and planning. Even the plans that she had come up with him, they could be changed; she was not his only strategist. She did not understand how or why Shepherd betrayed her, but she knew that if she was betrayed, not only the United States of America was in trouble, but the other NATO nations as well.

In the following weeks to come, Makarov would be undertaking his latest operation right there in Moscow. It was yet to take shape, but he had already indicated to her that if she had played her part well enough, she would have his full trust… Now that she knew that she was already compromised, she did not know how Makarov would act around her in the coming days.

She could be killed at any moment, and the thought of that scared her…

* * *

Yuri

Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Moskva River-bank, Moscow

* * *

He was there to accompany Makarov from afar, acting as his friend's bodyguard in the shadows during his meeting with the man who revealed Anya's identity as an American agent. In fact, it was the same man who gave him Anya's files in the first place. Makarov said that he was an American general, and there was little that they could do to verify the truth to that claim at that moment. They would have to go with the fact that the man was able to reproduce Anya's records and deliver them means that he was definitely one of the upper echelons of the NATO militaries.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" the old man asked Makarov the moment they saw each other. "I wonder how many people can actually sleep if they knew what transpired against their own backs…"

Makarov was one that did not like to beat around the bush as well. "You're Lieutenant-General Shepherd, aren't you?" he asked the man, who nodded. "I knew that you wouldn't trust any other person to come negotiate anything with me."

Shepherd… it was a name Yuri had heard of before, somewhere in the back of his mind. Why was that name so damned familiar?

"After all," Makarov continued, "when one is so desperate that he places his best female combatant right next to you, you will realize that the information that she feeds back is secondary to her purpose of being here."

Those words literally enlightened Yuri as to why Anya was still alive. It seemed to him that Makarov realized that when Anya's identity had been revealed. Or even earlier, when he had hypothetically asked Makarov what would happen if Anya was a spy almost a year ago. Makarov had told him that she would have other uses to their forces, but what were they?

"So you knew that she was a spy long before I sent you the package?" Shepherd inquired further.

"If Dimitri had a beautiful protégé, I would have bedded her even before he introduced her to me," Makarov replied sarcastically. "Everything about her was artificial when she first came to us. Her decorum, her actions… She might have fooled my men, but not me. Her success rate is, of course, unquestionable, which cements the fact that no idiot would send a bumbling fool to act as a spy at all. Most importantly, Anya is the greatest actress I have ever known, even for her own good." It was said that the greatest actors are able to portray every single emotion with only a mask, but Makarov knew that the very best of them were those who used their own faces as masks. The expressions on their face revealed nothing of what they truly felt inside.

Yuri looked at the patterns on Shepherd's face, and knew that the general was getting more and more uneasy as Makarov droned on. "Well, let's get on to business then. Do you know why I'm here?" he asked. It was a question that Yuri was not able to find an answer for, because in his eyes, it was already unfathomable that Shepherd would even contact Makarov.

"You wish to start a war between the United States and Russia," Makarov answered. "No doubt that you have already pieced together the fragments of my plans that Anya has given to you."

Shepherd nodded. "You bought that airbase in Kazakhstan because at precisely 0800 hours GMT, a US military satellite will be directly above it in orbit, and you'll shoot it down. There, you'll be far enough from the US, but near enough from Russia. You'll want to recover the ACS module from the satellite so that you can attack US soil when our eyes are closed, but the US is not the main target, isn't it? It's Europe."

Makarov nodded. "Europe has to be stabilized before Russia expands further," he explained. "Soon, we will bring other parts of the world into our command. However, what is your motive against the United States, what grudge do you have against your own country?"

"Let's just say that we both want to see our countries stronger than they ever were," Shepherd divulged, but said nothing more. "Just make sure that you reveal Anya as an American in your latest attack on Moscow, and we'll both get what we want. You'll be rewarded handsomely."

"Money is not an objective at all," Makarov expressed. From the look on his face, Yuri knew that Makarov understood the meaning of his words, although Yuri himself did not.

Shepherd said nothing else and tipped his hat towards Makarov before he walked away into the shadows. "What was that about?" Yuri asked Makarov after the old man was out of earshot.

"We now are in a very precarious predicament," Makarov sighed. "This man will stop at nothing to have us silenced when his goals are reached. We will have to kill him before he kills us…"

Yuri's eyes widened. How could Makarov even see that coming? How was Makarov still so calm in the first place? More and more questions were pounded into his mind, and the more they continued to do so, the more clueless he became.

"Yuri, you asked me why I've kept Anya alive for so long," his friend said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Soon, you will see why it is important to have her on our side as well."


	15. The Prelude

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen / Ultranationalist Codename "Anya"

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Anatoly's bar – Downtown Moscow

* * *

In the year when Anya had been with those men, she had never once known that Lev was able to hack into computers. With his skills, he had obtained a full layout of the Zakhaev International Airport, and even the flight schedules, work rosters, down to the airport management's monthly office budget for stationary… Every piece of that information, in the form of maps, printed pictures and other paraphilia were laid out on a large table in the basement office of the bar owned by Anatoly, gained from the money that he had made from his escapades with Makarov.

"Firstly, I would like to thank Lev for obtaining all this material," Makarov pronounced. "They are absolutely crucial for our next operation."

They were to attack Zakhaev International Airport, one of the many structures that the Ultranationalist regime had constructed following their victory during the Second Russian Civil war. It was now one of the world's busiest airports, because Moscow was more than just the capital city of the Russian Federation, it was an economic hub in Europe, an important market. After all the wars that it had survived, its people was now ready to embrace what the world had to offer and to partake in the progress other countries in the Eurozone had achieved. Makarov had specifically chosen that venue because of the high volumes of people there.

"You are going to kill more than just foreigners there, Makarov," Anya suggested, looking at Makarov in the eye. "Our people will be there." All eyes were fixated onto her. They had done operations in Russia before, but those were days even before the time of the Second Russian Civil War, during her college days, even before she knew that she was going to be a soldier.

It was not the first time that those concerns were voiced to Makarov. He had already heard them from Yuri's mouth, and although he did not reveal his distaste for those words from the woman who did know what sort of fate was laid before her, Makarov let it pass on the count that she was still young in the eyes of his men, still tied onto the concepts of what was black or white. "Much must be risked to achieve our goals," he told her. "One day you will learn that a little evil has to be done to achieve a greater good."

There was no point for her to even continue the argument. Keeping her silence, she watched on as Makarov gave them the specifics of their next mission. "This is not the penultimate attack," Makarov continued. "In fact, this operation is the precursor to what we have all slaved after for the past year. War will be declared upon Europe and the United States of America, when the government discovers that it is the NATO countries who have supplied this attack."

Makarov opened the smallest crate from Alex the Red's shipment, the first part of many thousands. Each of them quickly went around him to inspect its contents. All of them were NATO weapons, most of them guns manufactured from the US, weapons that she had used during her days in the Task Force 141, as well as a US Army Ranger.

"This is not _our_ attack," Anya said. "It is the American's." Now that Makarov knew that she was a spy, he would make the operation look like an American one. She knew that even if any one of them was killed before she was, the Russians would still declare war against America because it would seem like her country supported Makarov in his cause… She knew that she had little chance to survive this mission, and she would die becoming one of those responsible to incite a Russo-American war. It was a sin that she knew was already written for her soul…

"We will bring the war to their soil then," Anatoly added. "But how would you attack the Americans? Their military intelligence rivals that of our own. They will shoot down any aircraft that even tries to get into their airspace."

That was when Makarov smirked, and showed them the photographs of a downed satellite. "This satellite was part of the US' Attack Characterization System. It is a web of satellites designed to form a protective network to trace any incoming threat. We have been able to copy the ACS module within this satellite in our airbase in Kazakhstan, and now we are able to get into the system without any difficulty."

It was at that point of time when he saw Anya's first natural reaction towards anything he had told them. Her eyes were filled with awe, the shock of the realization at the first glance, but at the second, it was pure fear. There was no doubt that she was struggling whether or not to burst out in whatever she was feeling at that time, or to kill him at that precise moment, or, to act along as if nothing had happened.

"War on the United States will come quickly then," she uttered, choosing the third route as he expected that she would. "And not even the President can decide against this."

Makarov nodded. "Anya, for the past year you have aided us in the best ways possible," he suddenly turned his attention towards her, as well as that of the other men as well. "I am not blind to the fact that without you, our successes throughout the past year would not be possible. If we succeed, you will have my full trust in all our future undertakings."

Those words were that of those she had striven for ever since she was planted in Russia. However, they came too late. She knew that it was a hoax, and she also knew that he was challenging her to act any way different than she was supposed to. She had no choice, and she knew that he had to win this round.

"Thank you," she mouthed almost silently, feigning reverence and relief. She had no choice but to say those words, to play along with him in order to live as long as she could, no matter how futile it seemed to be.

The rest of Makarov's men were all silent. They did not know Anya's true nature as Yuri did, but in their hearts, they knew and thought that partially, the other reason that Makarov would invest so much hope and trust in her was that he almost spent every night with her, and thus he knew her very well. The feeds from the surveillance cameras throughout his apartment (save for his bedroom and study) could be retrieved directly from the receivers located in their own apartment a few floors down the complex, and they could see that most of the time, that Makarov was the one who initiated whatever physical contact between them. It was a sign to them that Makarov, not Anya, was the one who pursued whatever existed between them both, and thus, they had no reason to doubt her at all.

"I promise all of you, this mission will be the one that would mark our places once again in this chaotic world," Makarov proclaimed. "You are all dismissed. We have a lot of work tomorrow morning."

In the greatest efficiency, the maps were stowed away, and the cigarette stubs in the ashtray were quickly disposed of. One by one, they filed out of the office and in the end, only Makarov and Anya were left. It was not a situation that she wanted to be in, and it was already evident by the way she made to follow Kiril, who was the last one out.

However, Makarov stopped her by grabbing her by her upper arm. "Where are you going to?" he asked her, causing her to look into his eyes. They were empty to her, but he, on the other hand, he could see that she was getting tired of all the chasing and guessing, particularly when there was a chance that she already knew that she was revealed as a spy. Her replies and retorts were no longer as sharp as they were before, although they still carried their usual bite.

She sighed. "You dismissed us, Makarov," she answered him after avoiding his gaze the moment she realized that his mismatched eyes were as keen as ever. She remembered that look on those eyes; she saw them when she first came to Russia. It was the look of intrigue, of curiosity. He was judging her in that precise moment, asking questions about her although he would be the only one who would have the answers.

"You will stay here with me for the time being," he told her, and gently pulled her into his arms. As if her body-language was not enough to deter him from continuing any advances towards her, he gently moved her chin upwards to force her to look at him once again. "Anya, you cannot lie to me," he added, words that made her heart stop. Was he going to reveal her then and there that she was a spy? "You have been out of sorts lately, and I want to know why."

Why was Makarov torturing her in that manner? Why would he want to continue that charade even though he already knew that she was a spy? Of course, she knew the answer to those questions: If her death had come earlier, he would have to find another American scapegoat, and it would be… very troublesome for him to say the least.

"I'm just tired," she told him. "I've had a long day…" As gently as he had coaxed her into his arms, she snaked herself to freedom, but not after placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I'll wait for you upstairs."

However, Makarov, as always, was not easily placated. "Anya," his chiding voice entered her ear as a whisper that only she could hear. It brought chills down her spine, and she could not tell if it was a good or bad feeling as a dark sense of foreboding crept into her mind, followed by a spark of… excitement. Now, more than ever, she feared that she was losing herself to her own act. "I know what's in your mind, my dear." Once again, he snaked his arms around her, this time from behind her, so close that she could smell his cologne. "You are thinking about your true existence here, are you not?"

"Why did Batkin send me here?" she asked him, turning towards him, only to have him back her onto the nearest wall. At least, for one moment, she could stop herself from giving away too much, by pressing an issue that was almost nonexistent, but still relevant to her situation. "I am a soldier, Makarov, I can't kill anyone randomly just because you ordered me to… Unarmed civilians, children… What you're doing doesn't fit my mandate at all."

"He sent you here because I told him that I needed his best fighter, one that he could see having a long military career," he answered, caressing the arch of her neck. "Dimitri sang your praises and I obliged him. It was a bold move, putting you here with us, even for myself, but without your talents… we would never have gone this far."

Anya feigned skepticism. "If you needed a butcher, you could have hired another man to do it," she rebuked. He looked at her with wonderment. He was not used to being questioned by his subordinates, but she could see a certain amount of amusement in his eyes. He knew that she was toying with him, and this time, he played along with her.

"You cannot compare to any man I have in my arsenal," he suggested. His hand was around her neck, but it was not an aggressive gesture, not at all, because as his fingers rested there, his thumb stretched out to gently stroke her lips. "It is true, if I wanted another… butcher as you put it, I could have hired another man, but I need someone with your sight on things Anya. It's like you could read my mind at times…"

"You're just highly predictable," she said, throwing her thoughts of him right towards him. "Everything you do is for Russia…" She was about to continue her sentence, but was stopped by him kissing her. It was like nothing she had ever shared with him, not even in the height of their greatest pleasure. When the kiss ended, she was left breathless and wordless. Panting, she gave up her false pretense and just stayed there, leaning on the wall, her arms wound around his neck.

After an eternity of silence, he whispered once more into her ear, "Dimitri told me that you were his most beautiful creation, he is wrong. You are mine."


	16. The Night Before

Vladimir Makarov

Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Moscow – Makarov's Apartment

* * *

The more he made Anya and his men train for the coming attack on Zakhaev International Airport, the more he realized that Anya was a born soldier, through and through. Every single instruction given to her was carried out in true precision, and whenever he watched her train with his men or by herself in the warehouse that he had bought off a local drug lord, he realized that she was just like him in his youth; that they were just as idealistic and patriotic as one another, however, Anya was with one flaw, and it was one that would be a fatal one. Her spirit was easily broken once she had lost all hope.

"If I move one more muscle, I'll just fall down and die," Lev complained and she plunked herself down near him, drinking from her bottle of water. She had cleared the mockup maze in about half a minute with the precision that only an elite soldier could ever achieve. His boys were men who had served in the field longer than she was a combatant, and still she was able to follow their pace… or perhaps it was the fact she was young and lithe.

"What about Anya?" Anatoly asked gruffly, gesturing towards the girl with his chin tipped towards her. "She's still energetic!"

Makarov looked at her with an appreciative eye and cocked a half-smile. "Anya is in her prime," he explained, helping her to stand. "It is the gift of youth."

Artificial…

The expression on her face, the way she carried herself… It was all too artificial, like the time when she had first come to them. He remembered how she had feigned eagerness, and ideals. They had disappeared from the moment she woke up in that Malaysian hospital after the bullet had been taken out of her system, the bullet meant for him. She had felt more… real as her personality started to show. She was a sharp woman, humorous in her disposition, intelligent.

Now, she was not the same person, although she was still sassy to his subordinates, and charming to him. It was so evident that she was hiding her emotions from the rest of them. The men had their suspicions that something happened between the two of them or something else that only time would reveal to them what really happened.

"Thank you for the compliment," she told Makarov, emptied the rounds from the pistol in her hand. "But it won't give me a raise, would it?" As always, the men burst into laughter, while he only chuckled. Of course, with the kind of work that they embroiled themselves in, they were all lucratively paid, having actual shares in the money each mission brought to them. There was no doubt that Anya would not complain about what she was earning at that moment in time.

"You're welcome," Makarov replied with a curt nod and began to address them all as a whole. "Now, I think it is time that we left this place. We have a big mission tomorrow, and I will not have it fail because any one of you lacked sleep tonight." Each and every one of them wished each other luck before leaving. As always, Anya left with Makarov as they stayed in the same apartment.

Once they had locked the entrance to the warehouse, they got into his car in silence for the most part. Ever since he had confronted her of her reaction towards their upcoming operation, she had decided that it was best that she kept quiet. She was tired, too damn tired to put up any more of the charade. The worse thing was that she would have to go down as the murderer of countless innocents, regardless of the rewards that she could have sown when the day when she was able to truly put a stop to his evil. At that point in time, she could not see if there was any hope for herself, and the only thing she could do was to sigh just before Makarov got into the driver's seat after a strangely short call that contorted his brow in ways that she could not imagine.

To that end as well, while putting on his seatbelt, he sighed even heavier than she did. "What's wrong?" she asked him, not noticing that her hand was upon his.

"Nothing, just a minor incident that I'll have to resolve before we start the attack tomorrow," he answered raising her hand that she did not know she had given him to his lips. "I will send you back to the apartment first, I have other matters to attend to."

It was during times like this when she knew that she had not the authority to even ask about what was going on. Makarov would reveal it when the time was right, and by that time, she could have done nothing to prevent anything bad from happening… just like what she was going to do.

When they reached their destination, Anya just gave him a kiss on the cheek and walked back towards the apartment without saying another word. He sped off the moment she got off the car, and she did not look back. It was a good thing, because she did not see that scowl he had on his face, one of the rare moments when he actually let his emotions show through.

This time, when they were so near the end of the beginning of their great work, it was he, and not her, who could afford any mistake before her. He would have to be careful, very, very careful indeed if he was to sway her fully to his side, but to do so, he must first destroy all traces of those who would make her see otherwise.

* * *

Yuri

Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Mainstream Ultranationalist Subterranean Bunker – Moscow

* * *

The half-bald man was standing in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed. Of all his years in the service of the FSO, Commander Leonid Pudovkin had never seen a man like Yuri. Yet, he had heard of him before, way back when Russia was still the Soviet Union. A prime soldier who was best friends with another prime soldier, who had gone downhill since the name "Zakhaev" popped up. "What makes you think that I should trust you?"

Inside, Yuri smirked. If this was the head of the President's security detail, then Vorshevsky could not have lasted very long should Makarov even try to attack him; he dropped his head for a moment and looked up into the commander's eyes. "That is because I know that the Government has been keeping tabs on me. How else would I have been contacted by the American general?" His answer, of course caused Pudovkin to take a step back.

Makarov was difficult to track, because he was silent, and constantly moving under false documents. With his vast monetary resources, he was able to bribe off high numbers of "strategic individuals" under various pseudonyms. It was a horrifying nightmare to even try to pin him down. The NATO armies, well, they had to sacrifice one of their finest soldiers in order to discover Makarov's last current location… On the other hand, Yuri was not. In the heyday of Zakhaev, this man's name was available on most operations involving the terrorist cell, and Zakhaev did not try to even cover his tracks, not like his beloved protégé.

"If Makarov knows this…" Pudovkin muttered, glancing at him sideways. It could well be a trap. This man was one of Makarov's most trusted agents, could it even be possible that he was going to defect from Makarov's side to theirs?

"He does not need to know," Yuri explained. "He will not find out about it, I assure you. Even if he does, he would already be dead." The girl would be the key. Ever since that they had purposely revealed to her that she had been betrayed by her own superiors, her spirits have been low, so low that she even rejected Makarov's advances several times. At any rate, her drive to see Makarov defeated would increase, so that his plans cannot continue.

Pudovkin looked at the picture that Yuri slipped to him. It was a photograph of a woman between her mid to late twenties with blond hair and blue eyes. She was not severely beautiful by any culture's standards, but there was something that could be seen from the photograph about her, she seemed that she actually knew she was being followed. There was suspicion in her eyes, her brows furrowed as she looked upwards, searching for the person who she knew was following her.

"This girl is the spy the Americans planted," Yuri added. "I guarantee you that she will be the one who will defeat Makarov when given the chance."

Still, Pudovkin was not convinced. "She looks more of a scholar than a warrior," he reasoned. "How will she ever do it?"

"Makarov thinks that because she knows of betrayal by her superiors, her spirit is already broken. I will convince her that the only way to change her fate is to kill him." As a person who knew Makarov for many, many years, Yuri had realized that Makarov's own weakness was his pride. He operated with his own assessment of others, never giving them allowances for growth, and that was where he intended to prove him wrong.

Looking at the commander of the FSO, Yuri knew that the man had no other choice but to trust him. As dubious as it sounded, there really was no way to stop Makarov unless they used Yuri's plan. Russia may have deeply conflicting interests with America, but these differences should not, and needed not, be settled with the use of force. There was too much at stake. With whatever cost that they could pay, war must be prevented from happening.

Makarov must be stopped before he was able to do any more damage.

"Do not act on your own," Pudovkin said finally after a long silence on his part. "If Makarov really is going to attack an airport, then we will have to find out of it is true."

"We have no time!" Yuri argued. "The world has no time for this, you must act now! The girl is alone in his apartment as we speak, you must contact her!"

Pudovkin straightened up and told Yuri the truth that he already knew, but deigned to hear. "Listen, I don't know if this is a trap, or you have really defected. Either way, the security levels in Zakhaev International Airport will be increased, but until we know what is really going on, we can't do a thing about the situation."

It was only until then did Yuri realize the truth in Makarov's words that the government's rampant bureaucracy was stifling. Even a matter as serious as his former superior's eminent attack on a highly public area was taken with little caution. However, he knew that he had done what he could.

"It's your choice whether to believe me or not," he said, giving up in the end. "After all, I'm not the one with the responsibility of thousands of lives on my hands."

Without saying another word, Yuri walked out of the designated meeting area and lit a cigarette. Tomorrow, the world would be a drastically different place, surely. He doubted that the government would be able to defend the airport in time anyways. Makarov had several failed attempts in the previous few years, but only because the NATO armies were constantly on the watch. Now, an American general fooled the world, collaborating with Makarov to start a new war…

He would be right there, watching as it happened.

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen / A.K.A Ultranationalist Codename: Anya

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Makarov's Apartment, Moscow

* * *

Her phone had been ringing ever since the clock struck twelve, and whenever she checked her registry, it was a private number she had never seen before. Following those calls, were text messages asking for her to head to the parking levels of the apartment complex. She did not know if it was a trap, or a test by Makarov.

At that point of time, she was afraid that it was both.

The only way she could salvage things now, was to act that the precise moment in the operation when Makarov's guard was the lowest, and it would be at the moment of victory.

_You don't want to know what it cost to put you next to him, it will cost you a piece of yourself… _

Those words were spoken to her by Shepherd even before she accepted the mission. She knew the price to pay for Makarov's downfall was her soul early on, and she would pay it nonetheless.

_It will cost nothing compared to everything you'll save._

* * *

HAN: Wow, finally we've reached the end of the beginning of this story, entering the storyline of MW2. The next chapter will depict the events of No Russian as seen through Makarov's and Anya's eyes.


	17. No Russian

Vladimir Makarov

Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Zakhaev International Airport

* * *

To avoid undue suspicion and to ensure the secrecy of what they were about to do, they were to enter the airport in different ways before meeting at one of the airport's many basement levels, one used by the staff of the airport, so that they would enter the departure hall together and start the attack.

If things had went smoothly the previous night, this would be the day that Anya would meet Yuri for the first time, but sadly, it was not to happen at all. His spies within the Kremlin had confirmed that Yuri had gone straight to the commander of the FSO to inform the government of their operation, a form of betrayal that he could not tolerate, not even from an old friend. In fact, it stung him to know that of all people to have done such a dastardly deed, it would be Yuri, his friend of two decades.

Yuri was supposed to arrive alone from the eastern wing of the complex on the pretext of doing some duty-free shopping just before Anya and Viktor was supposed to meet them at the level above. If they took too much time waiting for Yuri, then they would have to kill him in front of Anya. Somehow, he sensed that doing so would complicate matters in the future, and thus, hoped that Yuri would at least be on time for his own death.

Soon enough, the man of the hour arrived. To avoid his escape, Lev and Kiril quickly restrained him the moment he arrived at the parking area. "What are you doing?" Yuri asked, struggling against the two men who held him in a vice. Strong footsteps could be heard walking towards him, and within seconds, Makarov revealed himself to the man who had been his friend.

"I know what you have done," he said to Yuri, concealing the Desert Eagle he was holding from Yuri's view. There was an absolute possibility that Yuri knew that this would befall him, and yet he had still chosen to go on with his decision. If it was death that Yuri had sought, then it would be death that he would give him. "My friend… my alley… my betrayer…" He slowly counted his relationship with Yuri. Twenty years… they had known each other for such a long period of time, and quite frankly, he could not fathom that Yuri would actually have the courage to do such a thing…

Yuri said nothing, and only looked up into his mismatched eyes. He had already done his part, his conscience was clear. For twenty years now as Makarov's friend and subordinate, this one act would be the best that he had ever done, if it was indeed his fate to die at that exact moment, then, he would have no regrets whatsoever.

"What happens here today will change the world forever," Makarov announced. "Nothing can stop this, not even you."

He shot Yuri in the abdomen and left him there to die in the forming pool of his own blood. It would be impossible for Yuri to survive the wound he gave him, he thought, and went into the elevator to meet with Viktor and Anya.

* * *

The sight of her engulfed his vision when the doors of the elevator parted, and he could not stop but lamenting the fact that like Yuri, her days with him would end soon. Dressed like the rest of them, albeit in a feminine fashion. "You look stunning," he whispered into her ear as Kiril, Lev and Viktor started to move the bags of their equipment into another elevator, with his hand wrapped around her waist for the slightest moment.

She blushed, a reaction that he had not seen from her in a long, long time. It would always be that coy, seductive smile that she would respond with, whenever he slipped those inconsequential compliments, but this time, he really did catch her unawares. "Thank you," she mouthed almost wordlessly, looking around her with caution.

He could sense her distress, but she hid it well. Her sapphire eyes flitted from wall to wall, person to person, but only so often that she looked as if she was just on a lookout, observing if there was anything that would work against them in that moment of time.

They casually filed into the elevator that would bring them up about three levels up. "S nami bog," he prayed, as was custom, and then, he turned around to face all of them, addressing them sternly. "Remember, no Russian."

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen / Ultranationalist Codename "Anya"

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Zakhaev International Airport, Moscow

* * *

The first casualty was a woman about her age. She was walking hand-in-hand with her sweetheart, a man with auburn hair… She knew that they were together, deeply in love, because of the way they smiled at each other. She knew that feeling once, but she had not felt it for a long, long time already. The one who shot them was not her, but Viktor. She shot the immigration officers right next to the metal detectors.

They were all expressionless, just going on their business, killing everyone in sight. Many a time did Makarov enter her crosshairs, but she could not kill him. If she did, his men would just kill her, and his plans would be done under the stewardship of his other advisors and subordinates. She was meant for death, and thus, she chose the task to kill only the ones who could oppose them, those with weapons and uniforms.

It seemed that Makarov did not seem to mind at her sudden change of tactics.

"Up the stairs, move," he ordered, and they immediately went up the cascade of stairs. To her right and left, she could see bodies pummeling down onto the level they ascended from, their blood almost forming a red fountain. It was carnage that she had never seen before, and she had been a soldier for almost three years now…

She followed Makarov in every step he took. Gesturing to the shops at the right and left, he told Lev and Kiril to clear them all of anyone taking refuge within them. He was relentless; ever moving forwards, never stopping his footsteps, save only to reload his weapons. When they passed the glass elevators leading to the level below, Makarov threw a grenade into one of them, shattering it completely, killing two of the guards inside almost instantly.

This man was a monster, despite whatever she had thought of him throughout the past year she had been with him. It was not the first time that she had voiced such thoughts of him to herself in all honesty, but it certainly would not be the last. She knew that this was only one side of his, one part that made the man walking in front of her. His intelligence, his charisma, the seductive deepening of his voice when they are alone… It all melted down, and in her eyes, the suited military genius was no different than any devil that ought to be put down.

* * *

He knew that her eyes were upon him, and even as he walked forwards, he wondered if she would shoot him then and there. There was no doubt that she was trying to preserve her life, and her soul, by selecting her targets: those who could fight back, but it made little difference. She had ventured into his trap even before she ever thought of trying to make one of her on own him.

"Let's go, move up," he rushed them, after seeing hostile helicopters trying to land on the tarmac not far from them. There was no doubt that Yuri's information had been validated, and the Government was reacting to their attack. However, it was too late. Most of the civilians in the area were already dead, and they still had much to do.

He glanced at Anya, and as always, her face was revealed little. She was always looking downwards as they descended the stairs, looking at the blood-stained corpses, walking a bit faster as they reached the departure hall. How ironic it was to see the flight notices changing their statuses to being "delayed"… No one said anything about it, but it was certain that each of them had paused ever so slightly, to actually look at those notices, in one way or the other.

They went through a glass door, and arrived at a small room, which exit would lead them onto the tarmac. "Check your weapons and ammo," he told them, looking out at the window. As he was speaking, the government's forces were already roping down the helicopters that he had seen.

"I've waited a long time for this," Viktor commented as he reloaded his gun, and the others smirked with his words, even Makarov.

"Haven't we all?" was his response, and as he regarded Anya, she only smiled ever so slightly. He knew that like all her mannerisms in the past year were staged, artificial, save only when they were alone. That may be so, but she would always have this sort of half-smile upon her face that she used as her own shield, the true mask that she hid in when she did not know what to say, or to throw him off balance. It was the smile that he was currently seeing, and he knew that deep in his heart, he would do everything to unlock the secrets of that smile. For now, he would just have to settle with going on with the plan. After that mission, she would be his to decipher, and only his.

When they were all ready, he kicked open the door and said, "This way, let's go!" Within seconds, they were in a gate servicing area, which would lead them directly to the tarmac, where their opposition had already formed clean, straight lines, hiding behind riot shields. Makarov was amused indeed. Yuri had informed the FSO, but the Government decided to send another faction in their place. What an irony indeed. If only his friend had been there to see it…

They too, formed another line. The five of them against perhaps at least ten times their own number. "Good luck, boys," Anya said, more or less her first words since the attack started. Out of sight of his men, Makarov slightly squeezed her forearm and nodded to her. It was meant to be reassuring, but he was sure that she did not try to register it at all. He knew that she did not want her mood to be… affected by such a seemingly neutral gesture.

"For Zakhaev," he announced, and they all ran towards the surface. "FSB, take them out," he told them. Riot shields were difficult to deal with, of course, but any seasoned combatant could tell you that the best way to take them out was to use a grenade launcher, or, to flank them. Every single one of them knew what to do.

"Makarov, look up," Anya warned, taking aim with the M4AI in her hands, handling it with the finesse of an old hand. Of course, she was an American soldier; there was no excuse for her not to. His eyes went to where she had directed them, and he found them: FSB on the second floor that formed the base of some sort of office, and the others were still wondering who was shooting them from the very top…

"Contact, second floor windows," he yelled, making sure that he was heard. They quickly disposed of their aerial threat, and continued to focus on those who were on the ground. By that time, more had turned up, through the many vans that sped onto the screen.

They warned one another of the presence of their enemy whenever new ones popped out, and although they killed many, more still came. It was with Yuri's word that caused this, but it was only a small issue to be solved.

"Lev!" Anya shouted when a particularly loud gunshot was heard near them. Lev fell flat upon his face, not moving an inch. He had been shot right through the middle of his eyes, and in their confusion, Kiril was killed as well.

"Man down!" Viktor warned, but Makarov knew that there was no time.

"They're dead, leave them," he replied. He pushed the two of them forwards, and they continued to fight. Their sacrifice would be duly remembered, and there was no time to mourn the dead. Although he was not as close to them as they thought he was, they had still been fearless comrades to him. They deserved to be remembered.

As the seconds passed into minutes, the numbers of the FSB gradually lessened. One by one, they were killed off, their bodies littering the tarmac, as though it had been an utter warzone. It was a mere taste of what he could unleash, no, what he would unleash in the near future.

Soon, the tarmac was quiet. They had already expected that. It would take half a minute before more would come. They had to make their exit quick. "Thirty seconds, go," he said, and they all ran towards the next gate service area. "This way," he signaled, and opened a door, which lead to a hallway. "Hallway clear," he added, and they all entered it after he did. There was an ambulance van there, and by the looks of it, whoever was manning the vehicle was waiting for them. "Hold your fire…"

The ambulance doors banged open. It was Anatoly, who had resourcefully hijacked the vehicle. It was a clever move on his part. "Move," he told them, and Viktor and Makarov got into the van, one by one. "Good, get in," he continued before turning to Makarov. "We sent a strong message with this attack, Makarov…"

Makarov nodded, but said, "That was no message," and helped Anya to get into the van. He could hear the sirens of the enemy approaching, and knew that he had to act fast. He pulled her up and enveloped her in his arms, kissing her, even as they were standing before his men.

Anya's eyes widened. She did not expect this to come, but certainly, she had expected death. She felt the cold steel of an M9 emerging from his jacket pocket, but the pain she had felt was not that of a gunshot, but of a syringe, slight, but cold. She felt the contents of the syringe empty through the miniscule puncture in her arm, and fell from the edge of the van. Only then, did she hear him fire at her, but she felt nothing at all…

"This was a message," she heard Makarov say, just moments before her vision whited out. "The American thought that she could deceive us, when they find her, all of Russia will cry for war…"

She had failed… The realization had sunk into her, and now, she was the one responsible for the lives of thousands that would be lost…


	18. The Prisoner

Vladimir Makarov

Organization Data Updated: The Inner Circle (Formerly known as Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell)

Inner Circle Safehouse – 50 KM from Moscow

* * *

"What the hell was that?" Viktor demanded once they have set foot in the safehouse off Moscow, far, far from Zakhaev International Airport. "How did you know that Anya was an American spy?"

Makarov sighed. It was high time that he had been honest with his men. It was time for him to tell them what he had told Yuri a few weeks before the attack was even planned. "I had my suspicions, early on, even before our little trip in Malaysia," he explained. "However, I was not able to confirm that fact, until the day that her superior contacted me."

"You took her in, even though you knew that she was a spy?" Anatoly asked, but Makarov had already anticipated such a question. He knew that there would be more of the same. At least, Anatoly realized that whatever Makarov did, he did it for a reason. "You must have thought of a use for her," he sighed, and looked towards the direction of the airport they had just escaped. "She might not be dead, might she not?"

Makarov nodded. "No, I injected a serum to make it look like she was dead," he answered. "I have also made sure that the FSB would hand her back to our brothers, I will have a proper place to house her until she is ready to join us."

"A proper place?" Viktor interrupted him. There was only one place that Makarov used to house prisoners that he could not kill immediately. "You will send her to the Monastery…"

He nodded. "She has a long forgotten brother there, who I hope will help me destroy their own organization from within… I believe that it would bring the Task Force 141 into peril, and they will kill the ones we need dead."

As he said those words, he could hear her soft chuckle whenever they would hold most of their discussions together, flirtatious in tonality, but serious in content. Her sapphire eyes, they sparkled when she withheld him in her vision. Those moments were real, he knew, because those little gestures, those little signs that her personality was there, was not present when they were all together, along with the rest of his men.

"_With you, I will only be Anya,"_

Those were the words that she had told him, he remembered her telling that to them one night in his Moscow apartment, when they were sharing nothing but their thoughts, and the warmth of one another's bodies. She had said those words with earnest, for her heart was beating still, and she had gazed into his eyes, watching his every move, waiting for his reaction to those words.

Her words were true, and her half-smile was paired with that smoldering gaze that he was sure that only he had seen before. Soon, she would be his, and only his.

"She better be good," Viktor declared. "Makarov, I don't care what you say, but if you want her back, you are going to have to make sure that she was even better to us now than she was then."

"I promise you, she will rise like a phoenix, she will…"

* * *

Prisoner 627 (Formerly Known As Capt. John Price of Task Force 141)

The Monastery, Petropavlosk.

* * *

For three years he had been rotting in the cell he had been in, but he had never, ever heard of the coming of a new arrival. He was there, because he was the leader of the squad that killed Zakhaev, because Makarov himself had set a trap for him. He had been in there long enough to even grasp whatever crude Russian his guards were speaking.

"We're having another one in this very wing," said one of them one morning. "It seems like she's really made the boss angry to want to put her here, next to old 627…"

A woman? Why would Makarov place a woman here?

A few hours had passed, but the woman in question was not be seen anywhere. Just random mutterings of the guards, hinting that perhaps she was very, very close to Makarov, even becoming his lover once.

A few more hours passed, and still those men did not stop their gossip. They were worse than women, he scoffed, only to have his thoughts interrupted by the loud bang of the steel doors opening, and wheels being pushed frantically against the stone floors.

He looked up and through the bars of his cell, and saw a flash of gold, and a feminine hand, white like snow. There was no doubt that she would be very decent looking woman, and the very moment she was wheeled into cell that was directly opposite his, he caught a glimpse of her face... Where had he seen her before? "When has she been administered the antidote?" the doctor asked one of the men in suits. He could not make out the answer, but it must have been a positive one, because the doctor continued with, "Good, then it would not be hard to stabilize her condition."

"I don't understand," said one of the guards that accompanied the doctor. "Why would Makarov even keep her alive, even after…"

"What Makarov does is ever up to him," the doctor sighed. "We have no right to question whatever he does. Be sure to inform me when she awakes next. Makarov would want to see her then as well."

Makarov wants to see her? Well, he knew that the woman would most likely be a great threat to the bastard, and any threat to Makarov, would be his ally. He would have to see if he would have any chance to gain information from her, it would be ultimately bring him some new news about the front, and wait he did, he just hoped that it was worth it.

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen / Secondary Status Updated: Prisoner 628

Task Force 141

The Monastery, Petropavlosk

* * *

Where the hell was she?

That was the question that arrived into her head the very moment she opened her eyes. She should be dead, one way or another… She felt the sting of a syringe and the sound of a bullet being shot at her, how could she not die?

"I am glad that you are awake, my dear…"

It was that voice again, of all voices; it was one that she deigned to hear again: Makarov, the man that served as her target, her tormentor, and everything else in between.

"Why the hell am I here?" she asked him in English, in her real voice. It was different from how she had spoken English in the year that she was with him, which had a slight Russian twang to it. Amused greatly, he moved from the chair right next to her cot to the edge of it, and tipped her chin.

"You are in Petropavlosk," he replied, looking into her eyes. If looks could kill, he would have been long dead, but still, she could not sense any… evil intent on his behalf. But then again, he had known that she was a spy for weeks now, if he wanted to kill her at all, he would have done so a long time ago. "To be precise, you are in a gulag, where I keep all of my enemies as my prisoners."

To that end, she sighed, and turned away from him. "So, you won't let anyone who has betrayed you the release of death," she commented, looking at the walls around her. If what he said was true, that she really was in a gulag, there would be no doubt that she would die there in the worst manner possible… Unless of course, she was of use to him; which might just be why she was not dead, for the time being, that was.

"You know that you can further my plans, but yet, you do not know how," Makarov continued. "It was… always a problem for you this past year, was it not?" She did not even need to answer that question. He had been watching her every move ever since she had been there, and as she knew, he was a man whose thoughts could pierce through that of others. "You can gather what may happen in the future, but you think that you can do nothing to prevent it from happening…"

That was exactly what happened and she knew it. It was the end of the line for her already, but the very fact that she was alive, well, _kept_ alive, she knew that there was something more that Makarov wanted, and in that case, there was only one end that he would have to cut loose… "What you have done will start a new war," she told him. "You don't even need me, other than to stop Shepherd from killing you."

His heterochromic eyes lit up the very moment he heard those words. "Would you agree to it, though?" he asked her, kissing her shoulder ever so lightly. This time, their roles would be reversed. It was he, who had to seduce her, and he knew that it would not be difficult. She might have nerves of iron, but her resistance towards him, was not.

"I refuse," she whispered back, and took the M9 in his possession, the same weapon that he had used to shoot her after he had injected her with some sort of substance that knocked her out cold. She did not know how many days it had been since the attack at Zakhaev International Airport, but she knew that it would already be too late to act on anything already. "I should just kill you now and end it all…" He remained silent, obviously giving her the chance to rethink her decision.

"You know that this is the only way," he told her, backing away from her, knowing that she would not hesitate to shoot him if he had uttered the wrong word. "Anya, you are not a fool. Shepherd has already put America on the warpath, you cannot stop it. However, your faction, on the other hand…"

She immediately lowered the weapon and threw it onto the floor. The primary function of the Task Force 141 had been to discover Makarov and bring him to the light. She had been planted next to him, acting as his paramour and an informant back to the 141 for the past year, giving Shepherd what information he needed. There was no doubt that Shepherd would want to cover his tracks, and it was impossible that the 141 would be safe from him at all… "If Shepherd is dead, who is to say that you won't kill all of us too?"

"My dear, I promise you that no harm will come to you and your brothers, so long as you do not interfere with my plans," he told her. "I will assure you that on my life."

"Impossible," she shot back. "We will come after you even after Shepherd is dead, at all costs."

Makarov sighed. "Then you leave me no choice, my dear," he told her. At his signal, his guards opened the door for him, but he did not leave without stealing a kiss from her, and it was a long one. He took her in his arms, and deepened it more than she would have liked, making last as long as it took for her to muster the ability to push him away from her. It would be their last kiss, and he wanted to make a lasting impression on her. "You will have twenty four hours to reconsider, but I must warn you, death awaits you if you refuse me."

He knew that his threat was needless. The idea had been planted into her head, and he knew that she would act upon it. The ultimatum had been introduced, and she was presented with no other alternative. All he had to do was to wait for the right moment.

"Sir, there has been a report from Brazil," one of his agents from the Inner Circle informed him as soon as he had gotten out of Anya's cell. "Rojas is dead, and so is his assistant."

There was no need to tell him that their enemies had traced the weapons used to attack Zakhaev International Airport with. "Then we would need to act fast," he replied, and quickened his pace towards the helicopter. He remembered that once he had accepted a call from this very facility regarding the antics of another prisoner that he had left there to rot and die, and there was no doubt that Rojas would have told them any shred of information to save himself, although in vain. "Tell Alexi to thicken the defenses here. 628 and 627 must _not_ escape if there is any show of military force to spring them out."

"Understood, sir," the agent said, and went to carry out his instructions.

His helicopter was already there when he had reached the main courtyard, and as if by pure trick of fate, the pilot flew past the window of Anya's cell. He could see her looking out at the sea, and up towards the helicopter. "Soon, my dear, we will meet again," he mouthed, and she just continued to look at him, wondering what he had just said.

If they met each other again, they would be on different sides of the chessboard in the truest sense of the word. If she really was successfully freed, then she would once again fight under the insignia of the winged sword below the skull wreathed in laurel. There would be no excuse for her not to kill him, and vice versa. But if it was of any consolation, he would make sure that he would give her a quick death, and he was sure that she would do the same to him.


	19. The Plan

Prisoner 627 (Formerly known as Capt. John Price of Task Force 141)

The Monastery, Petropavlosk

* * *

He was in that God-forsaken gulag for so long that he knew each person and their near histories. He did not need to talk to them personally to know, because, after all, all they did was talk amongst each other. One just needed to listen to what they said… Also, he knew that the woman sitting right across him on the table in the crude dining hall was the newcomer because there were hardly any of the female species there. Those that came before her had all died due to the harsh conditions there, and he would give her about a week or two before she caved in and lost it.

"What did you do to get in here?" he asked her in halted Russian, expecting to receive an answer along the lines that she had two-timed Vladimir Makarov. She looked up at him, somehow… amazed at hearing his voice.

"You don't know who am I, don't you?" she asked him in plain English, choosing to ignore his question. He was alright with that, but how the hell was it possible that she knew him, and he did not know who she was? It was the question which returned the shock that was previously on her face back to him. "Captain Price, it's me… Anya from the 141, remember?"

Anya? Had he ever met a Russian girl in the 141 before? No, it was impossible that she was Russian at all, even a Loyalist, which meant that "Anya" had to be a call-sign. She said that she was from the 141, and if she recognized him, it must have meant that she was in the 141 before he ended up there; there had been only one girl at the time then, and it was young Maria Allen, the FNG at the time.

"Allen, is that you?" he asked her, and she gave him a solemn nod. "Good God, sweetheart, how did you end up here?"

She sighed, and looked towards the walls of the facility. "I was assigned to spy on Makarov, but… I was betrayed…"

"Betrayed, by whom?" he asked her. There was no chance that any single man in the 141 would betray her to the enemy, not one… Each of them had been wounded too deeply by their battles with the Ultranationalists to even side with one of them. "How can I be sure that I can trust you anyways?"

He was right to question her, of course. She had never been in the field with him, nor had she shared many times with him prior to his capture. It was the only logical thing to do. She also knew that for Price to trust her, she had to be honest with him. "I was sent to Moscow as a honeypot by General Shepherd since last year, and I have done everything I could to bring information back, literally everything. A few weeks before our last operation, I discovered that Makarov had…" It had been too difficult for her to even admit it to herself that Shepherd had betrayed her, and to tell it to Price… was absolutely crucial. Thus, she straightened up her features and continued, "He had my files, sent to him from Shepherd… I know I can't prove it but, it is the truth."

"Damn right you can't," Price said, the furrow of his brow gotten even deeper. Even if he trusted whatever she said, he knew that there was still a chance that she would be a double-agent somehow… He didn't even remember if she was the true Maria Allen. For all he knew, she could be an imposter… "But, I'm sure that you can find something somewhere. You must be here for a reason…"

She chuckled and added. "Do you know that Makarov has a nuclear warhead in a submarine dock near here?"

Well that piqued his interest at the least. "That won't work, sweetheart," he added, although his expression betrayed his words. "But… you can tell me about that nuclear warhead."

* * *

Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Submarine Base

* * *

With Alejandro Rojas down and out, MacTavish was actually pleased that Rojas let out that Makarov hated two people in this world enough to put them in a Russian gulag. He had hoped that the Intel was true, so that he could use them to lure Makarov out.

"_Makarov has no notion of mercy_," Anya once told them in a past report. _"He disposes those who have no use for him, while those who betray him are sent to a fate worse than Hell, although I still don't know what that means._"

His other concern was of course, the location of Maria Allen. The Russian authorities have put it up in the media that she had been killed by the FSB at the airport attack, but they had Intel that she was actually alive, that Makarov staged her death. If that was true, he knew that they had to get her out of Russia before Makarov's Ultranationalists – who had called themselves the Inner Circle had the chance to kill her.

"Three weeks without a single word from her and she goes off to massacre an entire airport," Shepherd said, going through the Intel over and over again when MacTavish went into the mess in the sub only to find him alone there. "Imagine the amount of lives that can be saved if she had told us."

MacTavish sighed. In her latest information package, she had notified them that she was encountering a period of stagnation where she could no longer break into Makarov's mind to see what he was planning. However, no one could deny that every single piece of information that she had passed back to them was accurate… The only thing was that with every small triumph they had against Makarov thanks to Anya, their opponent would have something bigger waiting for them. A surprise that no one wanted, which included the fact that the airbase in the Tian Shan Mountains she had told them about was actually the site where they had retrieved the ACS module from the downed satellite from, and that the Russians had already managed to decipher it right before he and Roach managed to take it back.

"The worse thing is," Shepherd continued, "we don't even know if she's dead or alive. Intel can be wrong, but so can the media… Her mission is now a thing of the past. She needs to come home so that we can know what Makarov's planning further."

MacTavish agreed, and understood what Shepherd was implying. He, like everyone else, hoped that Anya was either Prisoner 627 or 628 because of the nature of her relationship with Makarov. Rojas even added that "the girl… was his… favorite…" One of them had to be Anya, they just had to. "I'll call the boys in," he told Shepherd, and left the mess.

There was work to do, and they needed to do it fast.

* * *

Prisoner 628 (Formerly Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen of Task Force 141)

The Monastery, Petropavlosk.

* * *

"As a matter of fact, I know that the commanding officer of this outpost has the information," Anya told Price while they were still outside in the courtyard. Time was ticking, for they were about to re-enter their cells in about fifteen minutes. She had caught sight of Alexi not long after Makarov had left, although she did not care why he was there. In fact, he had enough sense in his mind to remind one of his subordinates to keep constant watch on the eastern watch-tower - It was where schematics of the submarine were kept.

Once again Price went over her claims in his head. She would only get herself killed if she had the guts to steal the information from the facility they were in anyways. "Alright, I'll take your words as a bet," he told her. "If you can get that Intel to me and _not_ get killed, I'll trust you about this."

Anya only chuckled at his words. "You don't think I can do it, don't you –"

She was cut off by a sudden alarm. Every single guard in the compound started to close in around them and their fellow prisoners, yelling and cursing in Russian for them to enter the cells again. "It seems like our plans need to be altered," she sighed, listening to whatever the guards were shouting towards them.

"An attack?" Price asked as well after listening to the guards. There could be only one country that would attack Russia, and that would be America. But why that exact place, they did not know, or when, for the matter.

"The American Navy is coming, it seems," Anya added, and she knew that it was time to act. Once they were all back into the cells, there was no way that she could escape and obtain the plans for the submarine. She had to act now. Once the guards rounded up all of them, who knew what they would do to them. "Price, I need you to trust me on this."

There was no more time, and Price knew that he would not be at a loss on this bet, only Anya. She would not have made such an offer if she had no confidence that she would succeed. "If you come back alive with the plans, that is," he told her, and they shook on it.

With the increasing volume of people being herded into their respective cells, Anya parted from Price and went the opposite direction, towards the eastern watchtower. It was where she saw Alexi walking up and down, thinking of ways to defend the facility as best as he could. He would be her target, and she hoped that her plan worked. First, she needed a weapon, because it would be suicide to take down a whole tower unarmed.

It should not be difficult, judging by the amount of armed guards there were. In fact, she had come to a part where the shadows were cast perfectly where she could just grab the nearest guard by the neck, take the dagger in his holster and plunge it into his heart. Too bad she was already noticed even before the guard was dead. She had already attracted gunfire and quickly ran into the nearest corridor for cover after stripping the corpse of any usable weapons.

"She's getting away!" the guards behind her shout. They had better sense than to let rounds loose in that narrow, enclosed space. Pushing her way past the prisoners cramming into their respective cells, she ascended a flight of stairs as fast as she could.

She ran up two flights of stairs, three, and when she reached an almost empty floor, she approached with caution. There were no more cells there, only rows and rows of computers. Without hesitation, she took out the nearest security camera and proceeded into the new corridor, pocketing the first flash drive she saw lying around before shooting any remaining security cameras. It would buy her enough time to hack into the computer system to locate the exact file that she needed. She did not know how much time she had, nor did she know how much time she needed, but she knew that it was her only chance to make Price believe her, and to set things right with the world.

That nuclear submarine had a payload that could stop a Russian invasion on the Russian seaboard. She knew that with Makarov's military connections, it would not be long before he would able to incense them into declaring war with the United States of America. Makarov and his forces must not have access to that submarine, even if they owned it.

"Please work," she prayed once she opened the folder containing the file. She closed her eyes upon hitting enter, and when she opened them, she realized that it was the correct one. Alas, her ears picked up the sounds of footsteps getting closer and closer towards her, with sixteen seconds left of copying to do. It was a trap, and she had fallen into it, hook line and sinker.

Fourteen…

Alexi was among the men who started to corner her. "It's a pity that Makarov put so high hopes on you, Anya," he told her as he stepped towards her. "You had to be an American spy…"

Ten…

"We all have to do what we are ordered to, Alexi," she replied, getting closer to the flash drive that was going to store the complete copies of the information she needed.

Eight…

"It doesn't matter now, you'd be dead before your friends reach here."

Six…

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, eyeing the screen behind her. Six more seconds… While Alexi was still unable to see what she was doing, she quickly turned off the screen so that he could not detect the exact nature of her actions.

Three…

"Don't play coy with me, woman!" Alexi exclaimed. "I know that you just sent a coded message to your friends. Why else would you be here?"

One…

Once she had the flash drive slipped into her pocket, she quickly lunged towards the closest open space and shot the man next to Alexi in the calf. She had the files with her, and it was detrimental to her that they did not know it. Little that she knew that he stationed more men on the other side of the corridor. It immediately looked to her that she had no forms of escape.

"You cannot run from me, bitch," Alexi said once his men brought her towards him. "I will kill you once and for all…"

She did not even flinch. Cornered, with nowhere else to go, she knew that she had to take drastic measures. "Kill me then," she challenged him. "When Makarov knows that you've killed me when I have yet to tell him the direst secret about the U.S. armed forces, he won't spare even your third aunt thrice removed!"

It was a large claim, but she knew that Makarov gave the same treatment to all his agents. None of them knew what he was planning as a whole, not even those closest to him, like Alexi, Viktor and Anatoly. They only exacted his orders, what he had told them to do, and nothing more. He told Alexi that she was meant to be kept alive in the facility, and not why. It could be for any reason, but she was sure that he had not specified it to Alexi, of all people. Like everyone in Makarov's service, he was not willing to risk putting any single part of Makarov's grand designs to a halt. They did not want to end up like she did.

"Wait…" he told his men, who were all ready to fire at her when he said so. "Bring her into the east wing. We will take care of her there, along with her friend, 627."

* * *

HAN: Before anyone of you approach me about why I placed Price in the 141, I cite Operation Kingfish, where the 141 and Team Metal of Delta Force had a joint operation to uncover Makarov consisiting of Price, Ghost, Soap and Sandman, the process of which was covered in the fan-video of the same name. According to the COD wiki as well, Captain Price was captured during this Operation and was placed into the Gulag. I hope that this quells all confusion about this tiny little detail. With this information in mind, this places Anya was one of the new recruits at the time, which was why Price could not recognize her at first.


	20. The Escape

Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

4 KM to the Monastery, Petropavlosk.

* * *

"Don't worry, Roach, you'll get through this mess," he told Roach, who looked more and more uneasy as the mission continued. The kid had survived through Kazakhstan and Rio, and he knew that there was no doubt that he would make it through Petropavlosk. He was called "Roach" for nothing.

Roach nodded his thanks, and looked towards the sea. The sun was beginning to rise, although dark clouds surrounded them, approaching from behind the Monastery. But no one had the time to admire the scenery, the raw beauty of the land that was Russia. The only thing in their minds was their mission, and it was to get Prisoners 627 and 628 out of the Monastery, because they might have information regarding Makarov's future plans.

"Six Fleet's moppin' up, time to move in," he continued, addressing all of them now. "Long history, this building, not much of it pretty: started out as an actual castle with a dungeon, built to withstand any siege. Building survived every brutal winter, it's occupants… they weren't so lucky…" He puffed out some smoke on his cigar and continued, "The Monastery… didn't survive the purges. Over the last century, it's played host to anyone the government didn't want, but couldn't kill. Place is filled with living casualties of the last war which… I'd swore I thought we'd won."

At that moment, there was a slight change in MacTavish's usually hard expression. It reminded Roach of regret and something else… nostalgia, maybe.

"But I suppose that it's a day at the races," MacTavish added further. "You back the losing horse and this is where you'll end up. 627 and 628 are the pieces of meat that Makarov wants, so let's cut 'em loose."

* * *

Prisoner 627 (Formerly known as Capt. John Price, Task Force 141)

The Monastery, Petropavlosk

* * *

"Did you get it?" Price asked the very moment he saw Anya being manhandled back into the cells. She gave him no indication at all, but she turned towards the guards that brought her there, her back facing him, and shouted various Russian vulgarities towards them. While she was doing this, he felt something scratching against his arm, the rounded edge of something plastic. It was a flash drive, which he quickly took from her hand and slipped it into his pocket.

When the guards left, she sighed and turned back to him. "I told you that I could," she growled, re-tying her hair with the strip of cloth that she had ripped off the sheets of her cot after she had regained consciousness. "Makarov's men aren't actually the brightest tools in the shed."

Price actually chuckled at her words. "You should know," he told her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Anyways, do you know what they're gonna do to us?" he asked her. It seemed to be a rhetorical question, so she just shrugged and shook her head. "Apparently, they want to kill us before anyone that's not Russian can get their hands on us."

Anya rolled her eyes on that comment. "Trust Makarov to stand by his words," she added bitterly. She had never believed that he would actually give her a 24 hour window to decide if she would actually continue to work with him, but she knew that there was a chance that he already anticipated her answer. She would never, ever turn her back on her country, on the side of reason as well, for that matter.

As they spoke, their fellow prisoners were rounded up to be shipped into another prison. There were speedboats waiting on the lowest levels to carry that mission out. They listened closely to what the guards were shouting towards one another, and as Price said, it did not bode too well for them.

"Orders from the top: transport who you can, and kill who you can't!"

They were already rounding them up, starting from the western wing. It would be about a few hours before they could get to Price and Anya, who were down at the east wing, near the sewer system and the old lunchroom, two hours minimum.

"Let's just hope that we make it in time," she told Price and sat down on the floor next to him. "I'm sure that the two of us are _not_ the people who Makarov hates the most." That had been more of a hidden prayer than it was a comment, and this time, Price hoped that she was right. The two of them would not be of use to the world dead.

* * *

Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Task Force 141

The Monastery, Petropavlosk.

* * *

MacTavish had announced that they would arrive in 30 seconds, and he looked out towards the horizon for the umpteenth time.

Their retinue was escorted by two F-15s as well as another Little Bird that was armed with guns. The fighter jets took out a radio station before flying off, while the armed Little Bird advanced with them. The Monastery soon came into view, a massive structure of circular walls with turrets every few meters. A few of them even had SAMs on them, but to no avail; for their Little Birds were able to go far too close for the missiles to even hit them.

The armed Little Bird, Hornet Two-Two flew past them. Within seconds, the whirl and roar of its guns being fired could be heard. A watchtower was felled within moments, alerting the entire gulag of their presence. Soon, men began to line the walls and man the turrets, each of them endeavoring to take them down, the intruders to their fortress.

"All snipers, this is MacTavish," MacTavish announced. "Standby to engage," he told them after telling the pilot of their Little Bird to stabilize the helicopter. "All snipers clear to engage."

Roach quickly cleared the turret with the SAM from any Russians that might be there, and thus, they moved from turret to turret, and just when MacTavish spotted four hostiles on the next one, an F-15 they did not recognize fired on it and flew past their helicopter it top speed, so much so that they were thrown off balance due to the resulting air drafts.

"Hang on!" the pilot exclaimed in his efforts to balance the helicopter, and managed to do so with due haste.

"Shepherd, get those fighters to cease fire immediately!" MacTavish said to Shepherd through the comms. He was _not_ liking the chance of being fried by the US Navy on that mission at all. "That was too close!"

Luckily for them, Shepherd's reply was quick. "I'll try to buy you some time," he said, although things did not look optimistic. "Two people in a gulag don't mean much to the Navy at this point."

"Bloody Yanks!" Ghost interjected. "I thought that they were the good guys."

"Ghost, cut the chatter and stay frosty!" MacTavish warned just before the Little Birds landed in the middle of the courtyard. "Go, go, go!"

Both teams quickly began engaging whatever hostile foot-mobiles that came towards them, most of them stationed on the second levels nearest to the main entrance of the gulag itself. "Two-One is in position for gun run," said one of the pilots, and MacTavish acknowledged it.

"Copy, Two-One," he replied, and focused the laser of his weapon on the second floor, marking where Two-One was supposed to shoot. "Lasing target on second floor!" Two-One fired the guns it had, effectively removing all threats that would bar them from entering the gulag. Once they no longer had bullets raining down on them from above, they took the chance to get into the cells as fast as possible. "This is it, we go in, grab Prisoners 627 and 628 and get out!" he told his team. "Check your corners, let's go!"

Once they were underground, their troubles increased immediately. Not only they had to scan each and every cell for 627 and 628, they needed to make sure that not only themselves, but the prisoners did not die as well. "There's the control room up ahead, I can use it to find the prisoners!" Ghost said, bringing half a solution to their problems. "It's gonna take some time…"

"Copy that," MacTavish said, agreeing with Ghost. It should lighten their loads dramatically, although they would be one combatant short. "Roach, we're on cell duty, follow me!"

Roach followed without question, tailing MacTavish with every step he took. "Lead the way, sir!" Descending the stairs that led towards the cells, Roach knew that it was impossible that they would find the two prisoners on the first level. However, he saw something that made his heart sink. There were splatters of blood in each and every one of those cells, those that had already dried, and even some fresh ones…

"Alright, I'm patched in," Ghost announced with confidence. "I'm tracking your progress on the security cameras."

"Do you have the location of the prisoners?" MacTavish asked, whilst shooting one hostile right in the eye. His skill as a marksman was near legendary, and Roach could only hope to one day even have half the amount of skill that the Captain had.

"Negative," was Ghost's answer. However, he had something for them that did not dampen their spirits as much. "But, I've got a searchlight tracking hostiles on your floor. It should make your job easier." In fact, Ghost received a chorus of thanks from his teammates.

* * *

Prisoner 628 (Formerly Known As Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen, Task Force 141)

The Monastery, Petropavlosk.

* * *

Alexi was there to deliver his last taunt to her before he decided to kill her and Price as well. "I am here to personally wipe that smug smile from your face," he elaborated. "No matter what you do, you have failed to buy yourself time to escape."

With Price next to her, Anya said nothing, only shrugging at him. Alexi was never a problem for her, alike a mosquito that drank too greedily from the hand it first fed upon. However, she knew that he would not even dare touch even a hair on her body without Makarov's orders. "Just kill us and be done with it," she interrupted him, rolling her eyes. "Be a man and do it fast."

Her words incensed Alexi, so much so that he grabbed her by the collars of her clothes , causing Price to stand up to defend her. She did nothing, nothing but stare Alexi down. "You won't survive for long," he told her. "Even if your friends make it in time to save you, you will not make it out of here before your own countrymen reduce this facility into a pile of rubble," he whispered to the two men who followed him and walked away from them laughing his head off.

She sighed and looked at Price. "He's afraid that killing us himself would cast himself in poor light to Makarov, so he brings his own dogs to do it," she told him. They were unarmed, but they were not helpless, and more importantly, they were not going to sit there just waiting for their turn to die. They were willing to fight it out, and make sure that they stayed alive.

"What can they do?" asked one of the guards to the other. "Their hands are cuffed!"

"I'd like to have a go at the woman, if you know what I mean," the other said. Anya punched him in the face before he could say anything. Enraged, he returned the blow but Price got to him first. "You will pay for this!" he shouted once he was able to get Price off him, but there was no one there to listen to him. The other guard was already attacked by Anya, who managed to get his AK-47, which she used to bludgeon him on the head before shooting him right in the stomach.

Price, on the other hand, managed to use his handcuffs to strangle the guard he had punched earlier with his handcuffs, but that was the least of their worries. They could hear several new voices from the wall nearest to them, and it seemed if the owners of those voices were going to blast it open. They had no choice but to ignore it.

Once the wall was breached, and the guard dead, Anya threw the weapon to Price, who punched the nearest newcomer to him and aimed it right between the newcomer's eyes. "Drop it!" ordered yet another. It was a voice they both knew, a voice that they had not heard in a long, long time. They did not need anyone to tell them who owned that heavily Scottish voice. It was Captain MacTavish.

"Soap?" Price asked, wondering if the many years in the gulag had addled his eyesight. However, that was not possible, even Anya reacted to his presence.

"Price… Anya?" MacTavish asked, as if making sure that they were real, and not one of the many souls who had perished there. Those behind him quickly got to their feet and made sure that Anya was alright, which was proof enough for Price that she really was part of the 141. "This belongs to you, sir," he added, as the man Price hit helped himself up. A M1911 changed hands, followed by another explosion over their heads, causing rubble to fall on them. "Come on, we gotta get the hell outta here, move, move!"

They all ran, and as they did, Anya could not take her eyes off one of the men that came to rescue them. It was a long time since she had seen him, but… she knew that she would have to take the chance. "Sanderson, is that you?" she asked, and the man nodded.

"Allen? You're Prisoner 628?" Sanderson replied. "How the hell did you end up giving Makarov shit?"

Anya did not have a chance to reply. "More running, less talking!" Price chided them as they ran towards the end of the tunnel. They could even see the helicopter that was going to bring them far away from the crumbling facility.

"There's the chopper, get ready to jump!" MacTavish instructed, but alas, the tunnel collapsed right before they could even pause.

"There's a cafeteria back there," Anya told them. "Maybe we can find a way there!"

Without hesitation, all of them turned back and sprinted towards the cafeteria that Anya had indicated. Right in the center of it, was an undetonated bomb, which created a whole in the ceiling. It was big enough for all of them to pass through single file.

"Six-Four, where the hell are you?" MacTavish beckoned towards the helicopter that was supposed to secure their exit.

"Bravo Six, there's too much smoke, I can't see you!"

As the conversation continued, the Monastery began to quiver and quake once again. "Roach is down!" MacTavish exclaimed, and Anya looked towards her left. Sanderson, or, Roach, as MacTavish had called him, had been hit by a piece of fallen concrete, and Price was the one who got him out of that mess.

"Whatever you're gonna do, Soap, better do it fast!" Price shouted towards MacTavish, who fired a flare through the hole in the ceiling. It was a good thing that he did so, because the helicopter's pilot was able to see them, dropping a SPIE rig down the hole when he noticed the flare.

They did not need MacTavish or Price to tell them what they should do. The very moment the rig came down, all of them hooked themselves onto the rig and let the helicopter fly them out of danger, and just as they were ascending into the Little Bird, Anya could see that the exact force of the US Navy was sent there for the counterattack.

Even with the fury of an entire nation, Makarov's malice could not be covered. America had walked into a trap that he had set for her a long time ago, and no one from that proud nation ever noticed it, not even her. She knew now that she had been given a chance to survive to rectify the effects of her failed mission, and she knew that she must put everything she had in preventing Makarov's victory, and she pledged to do so, no matter what it took.


	21. The Return

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen (Formerly Known As Prisoner 628 and Ultranationalist Codename: Anya)

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Submarine Base – Off the coast of Petropavlosk

* * *

She was welcomed back in open arms the moment they returned to the submarine which first deployed her into Russia about a year ago. It was the submarine that the 141 used frequently for their missions across the world, and it was there that she met many old faces, and even a few new ones.

"So, how does it feel to be back?" Ghost asked her, and she smiled, and thought about his question.

She, on the other hand, did not know how to answer him. Part of her wanted to return, but part of her knew that she should not be there. She had failed in her mission, and she knew that Shepherd would surely destroy her to cover his tracks, she did not want the others to be covered in her own mess as well. "It feels good," she told him, the only thing that she could say. Her sapphire eyes looked towards the second in command of the 141, she added, "I miss being back."

Ghost patted her on the head. "I know that you've suffered a lot in Moscow," he told her, not spending any time beating around the bush. "It's been different without you."

"You just miss my ass," she shot back, rolling her eyes. "It's the only one that you could actually look at without puking, Riley." Ghost actually laughed at her words, showing his agreement, and so did the other men who heard her words. It was not that she encouraged the direct objectification of women, but it was the fact that she been around them for so long, that she knew that men hardly brought anything into consideration of _that_ manner once they knew that she was actually inaccessible to them.

Chemo joined in as well, saying, "Hey, hey, hey, we have plenty of nice asses, right boys?" Needless to say, there was a whole chorus of men adding to his claims. She did not say anything further, and let them say what they wanted. All she needed to hear was their voices, and the knowledge that they would not disappear the next time she opened her eyes. She would really scream if she awoke the next morning back in her room in Moscow, and she would not hold herself accountable to whatever she would do to Makarov.

Thankfully, her anchor to reality came in the form of MacTavish, who was holding a clipboard in his hand. "Alright now, lads, settle down, we've got our lassie back and we're really happy about it," he said, pushing his way through the throngs of his men to get to Anya. "Shepherd wants you and Price in a conference call, now."

As much as she dreaded facing Shepherd, she knew that it must be done. America and her allies must know what Makarov was up to. That was why she followed MacTavish to the room where several cameras and computers were lined up together, where Price was already waiting for them.

"All good, Allen?" Price asked her, and it relieved her to finally hear someone, a superior, call her by her last name. Very few in the 141 did, preferring her callsign instead.

"Great," she replied with a wink and traced her eyes towards the door. "It's good to be back with the boys."

As they spoke, MacTavish slaved away at establishing a conference call with Shepherd, tapping at the keyboard, focusing the cameras properly. For many a time, it would be he that would start these conference calls, only he knew the codes in which to contact Shepherd. It was a security measure, so that there was no sign of treachery to be found.

"Uplink nearly complete," MacTavish said, still busy with the computers. "General Shepherd, you're online with Captain Price and Corporal Allen."

The look on Shepherd's face when he saw the both of them alive and back in the 141 was priceless. It was one mixed with parts of annoyance and those of surprise. It was evident that he had not counted them to even be in the Monastery, or that they would actually survive whatever fate Makarov had planned for them.

"Back from the brink," he greeted them, there was a hint of amusement that Anya found in his voice, but she said nothing about it.

"Yes sir," she replied, knowing there was little else she could say to Shepherd anyways.

Price, on the other hand, begged to differ. "Out of the frying pan is more like it," he butted in with his arms crossed, already smoking a cigar. "This world looks more like hell than the one I just left."

It was a truth that Shepherd acknowledged. "We thought that we'd recovered the ACS before the Russians could crack it, we were wrong… Then Makarov turns the U.S. into his scapegoat, and next thing you know, there's flames everywhere." Although she had no part in the retrieval of the ACS module, Anya had given Intel that Makarov had acquired an airbase in Kazakhstan long before the satellite carrying the ACS module was shot down. It did not take long for the U.S. military to discover what Makarov had done when they discovered that there was a satellite missing. "Now, what we need, Allen is for you to tell me what Makarov has in store for us."

It was evident that Makarov had already successfully ordered an invasion on American soil, but Anya did not know how that would progress. However, if the Americans won, it would mean terror for the rest of the world. "If he can't take America, he'll take Europe instead, followed by northern Asia," she said. "I don't know how he'll do it, but Makarov will plan a blitzkrieg all over Europe, hitting key cities like Berlin, London, Paris and Prague."

"How much time do we have left?" MacTavish asked, and it was a question that Anya knew that she could answer at all.

"I don't know the specifics, I never did, sir," Anya answered. "What I do know is that we'll have to crush whatever forces he's brought to the eastern seaboard or Europe will burn."

Shepherd sighed. "Allen, are you sure about this?" he demanded. With Makarov, nothing was definite until it happened, and that was the dangerous part. Even if all of his subordinates gathered round and discussed his plans, they would be unable to complete the circle, because there would be individuals taken from the outside completing other aspects of his designs. Alejandro Rojas was a perfect example of this. Not many of his other advisors realized that he had sourced their massive weapon stores from the heart of the Brazilian black market, but Anya knew that none of his personal agents realized that his military connections with the legitimate Ultranationalist government ran so deep that he was able to orchestrate a full-scale war.

"Positive, sir," Anya uttered. "I was the one who helped him oversee the final states of this plan. Makarov was inactive for years between that massacre in the Middle East until now for this reason." She worded the nuclear incident in 2011 ever so carefully. She knew what happened then; almost every single person alive on Earth knew it. "Makarov plans for everything."

"So this means that stopping Makarov's forces stateside is of utmost importance," the general concluded with a sigh, rubbing his temples as though he was nursing a headache.

It was at this time when Price's expression lit up. They had the means to increase the stakes of the battle on the American East Coast, something that he was sure that Makarov had not anticipate that they would obtain. Thus, he nudged MacTavish and plugged the flash drive he had with him into the computer. "Send this to the General, Soap," he instructed MacTavish, who had not the chance to ask Price of the contents in the files.

"What's this image you're sending me?" Shepherd asked, and MacTavish opened the files on their end as well.

The files consisted of images, and analyses of a nuclear submarine docked not far from them, with all its technical capabilities, mechanical layouts and whatnot. There plans of the base it that surrounded it, the amount of security that it had. Most importantly, the information in those files presented that said submarine had a payload of 16 megatons. It was enough to repay what Makarov had done to the Middle East five years ago.

"You wanna put out an oil fire sir, you set a bigger explosion next to it," Price explained confidently with a tip of his head towards Shepherd. "Sucks away the oxygen, snuffs the flame."

Anya said nothing about it. It could well be another one of Makarov's traps, because she was sure that the plans of the submarine were in Petropavlosk, but she did not know that they were in the Monastery precisely. It had just been a lucky guess for her, a stab of hope that she readily took in order to make Price had some confidence in her that she was not working for Makarov instead.

However, Shepherd was not happy about the idea for some reason. "Price, you've been locked away for too long, better get your mind right, son."

Price, on the other hand, received to back down. With such a payload, they would be sure to crush the Russians on the East Coast without any definite complications to their own forces. "Shepherd, are you willing to do what's necessary to win?" he asked, knowing the answer that he would receive from his superior. Shepherd was _never_ a man who would back down from a chance of victory, especially one in his own country.

"Always," was the answer. From his voice, Price was able to tell that he was slightly drawn to the notion of ramming a nuclear warhead towards Makarov's forces, and he knew that this was his chance to reel the General in.

"We've got ourselves a pretty huge fire… Gonna need a huge bang…"

For some reason, Shepherd snapped out of the thought of Price's plan, and immediately barked, "You've been in a gulag for too long, Price, focus on taking out Makarov."

That was not an answer that Price had in mind, not from Shepherd, who had ground the importance of victory into their heads ever since the 141 was formed, and if his subordinates from across the American armed forces were to be trusted, he held that philosophy a long, long time ago as well.

"No time sir," Price interrupted. "We need to end this war today." If whatever Anya said was true, then they could not waste a second in delivering victory to the soldiers back on the East Coast. They needed to strike soon and fast before Makarov was able to lay down any new surprises for them.

"I'm not asking you, Price, this is an order!" Shepherd exclaimed, clearly losing his patience over this matter. "You're to…"

With a push of a button, the conference call was cut short. Price was the one who cut Shepherd short and disconnected the call. "Looks like we've lost our connection," he told MacTavish and Anya, who could only stare at him incredulously. It was apparent that Anya was not used to Price's style at all, but MacTavish was.

In fact, the Scottish Captain sighed and looked at Price with the same expression he had given the rest of the 141 whenever they were up to mischief. "What are ya gonna do, Price?" MacTavish asked, knowing that Price would have something planned already.

"We're gonna get to that sub for starters," Price said, looking at the map of the submarine base in Petropavlosk. "Leave the rest to me."

"Wait, what if it's a trap?" Anya offered, knowing that every part in Makarov's designs was deliberate, her sapphire eyes darting towards MacTavish, who was definitely the voice of reason among the two Captains of the 141. "Price, I was able to get those files out of pure luck…"

She was answered by a pate on her shoulder. "Then you'll have to be my lucky charm, sweetheart," Price told her before exiting the room.

"It's the only way, Anya," MacTavish told her when she turned towards him again. "We'd be wasting this chance if we turn from it now."

Anya sighed, and leaned against a wall. It was already clear enough that Price would have what he wanted, whether or not Shepherd agreed with him. "What were you thinking, rescuing your old boss who's clearly gone nuts and a clearly paranoid _former_ honeypot from that blasted gulag?" she asked him, and received a soft chuckle from MacTavish.

"I guess it is all part of the contingency plan," he answered, and opened the door for her.

Harrumphing playfully, in line with MacTavish's tone, Anya retorted, "Well, it'd better work, or we'll all be dead."


	22. Contingency

It was amazing what one could find on a military submarine, the most amazing things of all, were the items that reminded them of the lives they had back home… Handheld gaming consoles, books, and in Anya's case, hair dye (which she had nicked from one of the newcomers whose name she could not remember). Her hair was naturally light, and it was her almost Slavic appearance that landed her Moscow in the first place. The first thing she did after her and Price's conference with Shepherd, she took a bottle, got a pair of scissors.

"How long has she been in there?" MacTavish asked a few of the men who were gathered in front of the bathroom.

"It's been one or two," Roach shrugged. "She took the dye from Thunder and ran in before he could catch her." A few feet across him, Thunder bemoaned the fact that he needed it to "cover the greys", and did not know how long that he would have to go without until God knew when.

Ghost sighed. "Must be a girl thing," he said, recounting the tale of how an ex-girlfriend of his cut off her long locks when he broke up with her. He received many nods of agreement.

"Come on, girl! We wanna see your makeover!" Chemo shouted, banging at the doors of the bathroom. Mere seconds later, Anya opened the door, causing him to nearly fall into the bathroom. "Whoa… lookit' you!"

"Part of my job last year was to look like a Russian doll," Anya announced. "I'm putting that far, far behind me." In her hands was a plastic bag filled with her hair, gold like the sun. Her hair was now in what someone fashionable would call a "pixie cut", the men just thought that it was really, really short.

MacTavish sighed. "Well, if it helps you to move on, it's a welcome change," he told her, and those words carried encouragement. For one moment she looked into his eyes, and all she found was the realization that she was home, home with the boys, with the Captain leading them. She would place her life on these men, and she would do anything to remain with them. She had prayed for this for the past year, every time she closed her eyes, she imagined being back with them. She had what she wanted, and she promised herself that she would keep it that way.

"My, my," Price's voice cut through the air and everyone looked towards him. "Our little girl's all grown up," he said, and patted Anya on the shoulder. "Now come on, we have work to do. If Shepherd's not gonna save the world, we're gonna set things right."

"Corporal Maria "Anya" Allen reporting for duty, sirs," she replied, directing her gaze to both Price and MacTavish.

* * *

Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Ultranationalist Submarine Base – Petropavlosk

* * *

He and Price were running that mission based on the fact that there was a small possibility that they could do good, for bring down half the unit that the world depended on. Their greatest risk would be their greatest conquest, and he knew that they had no choice but to continue with what they had planned.

"ETA five minutes!" he shouted towards the team once he looked at his watch. They had already suited up and got their parachutes ready.

"You're not coming with us, Captain?" Roach asked him, receiving only a chuckle on his end.

"Well I'd thought that the old man would like to take the reins for a while," he answered. "I learned everything from him Roach; it will be just the same."

The only thing that Roach could do was to do whatever both the Captains said, as the rest of them did. Actually, the true thing that remained for that point of time was for him to jump down the helicopter, which he did, after Ghost and Price. He would remain there as his eyes on the sky, acting as the sole operator of this mission.

The landing process was not be a difficult one, because the weather was not as treacherous as expected, however, due to some interference, MacTavish was not able to track where each of them had landed. He would have to wait until they contacted him.

"Captain, we seemed to have landed a little off-course," Ghost reported. The winds had separated them, and only Price and Roach seemed to have landed in the correct place. But it mattered not, they had prepared for situations like this and he added, "I guess we'll have to meet them in the base then."

"Right you are, Ghost," MacTavish replied. "I'll see if I can find the other two." He looked at the screen which showed the satellite feeds, and he signaled Price in order to locate him. "Price, I can barely see Roach's chute on the satellite feed," he told Price. Too much interference… Do you see him, over? "

From the screen, he could see Price running several meters forwards. It seemed like he found Roach at last. "Roger that, Soap, I've found Roach," Price replied. "He seems to be intact."

"I'm okay," Roach replied. "Just landed on my ass, no biggie." Clumsiness must be his greatest attribute, however, he was resourceful as he was… unlucky, and MacTavish knew that he would not have any difficulties at all.

"We're gonna head northwest to the sub-base over," Price reported once Roach was on his feet.

"Copy that," MacTavish acknowledged. "The rest of the team landed near Ghost, pretty far to the east."

There was nothing Price and Roach could do. "Tell them to proceed with the mission," Price responded. "We'll regroup if possible. Roach, follow me and stay out of sight."

As always, Roach nodded and followed every step that Price took. Stealth was never his strength, because like Anya, he was a US Army Ranger, an infantryman. Half a year with the 141 had proven that he could actually improve in this set of skills, but still, he had much to learn. On the bright side, they were all lucky that he learned things fast.

It was not long in Price and Roach's trek towards the submarine base when they encountered their first sight of the enemy. "Contact," Price remarked, "enemy patrol 30 meters to our front. Five men, automatic rifles, frag grenades… One German Shepherd."

The mention of a dog caught MacTavish's attention. "Dogs? I hate dogs…" he commented, shuddering at a certain memory of being bitten by a strangely ferocious mutt during the Second Russian Civil War that he was diagnosed with rabies when he had the wound checked. He immediately became a cat person following that incident.

Price knew of this, and decided to prod him on further. "These Russian dogs are like pussy cats compared to the ones in Pripyat, " he added, expecting MacTavish to be shivering and grimacing wherever he was.

"It's good to have you back, old man," was the response from MacTavish, however, which ruined Price's fun by a small margin. It was going to be a mission that he would never forget.

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen

Task Force 141

Ultranationalist Submarine Base – Petropavlosk.

* * *

They had already entered the village that was on the exterior of the submarine base, but there was no sign of Price and Roach. "Ghost, if Roach is gonna operate drones here, we need to take out that mobile SAM," Anya notified Ghost when she caught sight of the SAM that she saw, passing her pair of binoculars to him to prove it.

"You're right, Anya," Ghost replied, crouched a little lower from their spot of cover. "We're gonna have to do this nice 'n easy. Jayhawk, Yankee, hug the walls and plant a charge on the side of the SAM. Anya, give the boys cover." Without a further word, the two men started to carry out Ghost's instructions while Anya put her eyes into the scope of her M14 EBR to look for any threats.

However, they were not in luck. Just before Ghost was able to detonate the charges that the team had set, the SAM fired one of its missiles into the air, and the target seemed to be a Predator drone that they had brought with them on the mission. The good thing was that the fact that the Predator was over the ridge meant that Price and Roach were not far away.

The smoke from the two successive blasts quickly cleared up, and when it did, the team could see the two latecomers running into the village after switching their weapons to unsuppressed ones that were lying around in the crates that had been scattered everywhere.

"Check your fire, check your fire," Ghost warned them. "Friendlies coming up at your 12."

Price acknowledged them and tipped his hat. "Nice work on that SAM," he praised, and started leading the team to move forwards.

"Thanks," Ghost replied, "But these explosions are gonna attract a lot of attention…"

They had no time to continue with the pleasantries, because the Russians from the base were already swarming towards them from all sides of the village. Thus, there was no choice for them but to fight their way through the village, and fight they did.

No matter how tough the job was, there was a slight smile on Anya's face for the world to see. "What are you smiling at?" Roach asked her when they got back-to-back, reloading his weapon.

"I'm just genuinely happy," she answered, shooting a Russian right in the forehead. "You don't know how long I've waited to be back in the field with you guys."

"You're crazy," Roach commented. "No _sane_ person would want this job that bad…"

They separated and joined the others, but still kept close to one another. "Then what's your ideal way to get generally happy?" she asked him in return.

"Drinking hot cocoa on a snow day in front of the fire," Roach answered simply, and she chuckled. He had always been such a person, to be able to find joys in the simplest of things. "What?" he queried further when he noticed that she was still chuckling. "What's so damned funny?"

"It's just you, Roach," she interjected. "You never change, and it's a good thing."

Their talk could have continued, but he was soon needed to operate yet another Predator drone that MacTavish managed to send to them to remove all forms of defense the submarine base had. "Make it count," he warned the team. "These things don't grow on trees." Within seconds, there was a loud explosion not far from them, which took out an armed Hind. "That got their attention, the whole base is on alert!" he added, noticing the damage that Roach had done to the base. "You'd better hurry… You've got only a few minutes before the submarine dives!"

They rushed into the base, killing every person who resisted their efforts, doubled with Roach operating the Predator, it seemed nigh impossible that a small team like theirs could even manage such a feat with three minutes on the clock before the submarine dived.

After what seemed like an eternity to them, they reached the docks. "Anya and I are going for the sub!" Price exclaimed, dragging Anya along because she imagined that he needed cover and assistance inside there. "Cover us from the guardhouse by the west gate!"

Without hesitation, Anya followed Price into the submarine, the both of them making their way towards the control room as fast as people, pounding every form of resistance into non-effect. But one look at the controls of the submarine, and Anya knew that there was something amiss. "Price, this warhead is not meant for launch at all!" she warned. It meant that Makarov had genuinely no plans for this piece of equipment, but why?

"We're gonna change that," Price told her calmly, tapping into the keyboards of the control panel, which were, strangely in English. "After all, our mandate is to stop Makarov's plans with whatever means necessary. You've experienced that truth first hand."

Although what he said held truth, Anya was still unsure of what he wanted to do. "Do you know that if you launch this missile into Virginia where the Russian Army is now, you'll kill countless Americans as well?" she asked him, hoping that he knew the severity of the situation that they were in. Unless of course… he aimed high enough… "You're not aiming for Virginia, aren't you?" she asked again, knowing how he would answer her. There was a feed on the International Space Station on the screen right next to them, and its coordinates showed that it was just above Virginia in its orbit path. The resulting explosion of the impact between the missile and the ISS would cause an EMP that would halt all telecommunications in surrounding areas, meaning that the Russians there could not receive their instructions from their superiors back home.

It was not enough to give the US soldiers there on the Eastern Seaboard any advantage; but at least, it would level the playing field, because the Russian would no longer have the element of surprise with them.

"Now, all we have to do is to find out what the launch codes are," Price muttered, when the prompt for the launch codes appeared. They had time to think, because there was no one to take the submarine anywhere. Anya and he had taken all of the personnel on deck. "Hmm… that's strange, the launch code only has four characters."

Anya rolled her eyes. "What does it matter? We still have many, many possibilities with only one possible try," she commented pessimistically. It was a risk that she knew that she dared not take. She would leave it all to Price to figure out. Four characters… meaning that the launch codes could be alphanumeric. It made matters worse, much, much worse than she had first imagined.

Price exhaled laboriously, and rested his hands on the sides of the panel. Had they come so far in the mission only to return with nothing? Four characters… there was not a single mention of any pattern of alphabets on the plans. He looked towards Anya and remembered her zeal when she told him that the submarine that they were in… Apparently this location was only privy to those that were close to Makarov… and who could be the closest to him so far?

"Wait a bloody moment, that's it!" he shouted suddenly, which shocked Anya.

"You cracked the launch codes?" Anya asked him, and he nodded triumphantly. Character by character he keyed in the launch codes, and she watched as he did so.

**A…**

**N…**

**Y…**

**A…**

Access was granted as if by magic, and the silo doors opened once Price set the coordinates for detonation. "He seems to have a thing for you, Anya," Price said to her. "We'll talk about this later."

"Price, are you there?" Ghost's voice passed through the comms. "Anya, the silo doors are opening on the sub, I repeat, the silo doors are opening on the sub!" None of them gave any response. They only started to leave the submarine. "Price… Anya… come in! They're opening the silo doors to the sub, hurry!" Still, no one answered him, and his voice got louder and more frantic. "Do you copy? The silo doors are open, I repeat, the silo doors are open!"

There was only one thing for price to say to Ghost, really. "Good," he uttered by the time he and Anya were able to exit the submarine. By that time, the ground shook as the nuclear missile was launched from the submarine.

"Wait… wait… no!" Ghost shouted. There was nothing that he could do but to report back to HQ. "We have a nuclear missile launch. Missile in the air, missile in the air! Code Black… Code Black!"


	23. The Interrogation

Capt. John Price

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Land-base (Location Classified) - Mess Hall

* * *

They returned to their land-base after the fiasco in Petropavlosk, which proved successful, no matter how Shepherd was angry at their actions. They would have 24 hours to recuperate before their next mission, and it was a pivotal one. Shepherd only hinted at them that the new Intel would end their labors in locating Makarov, and Price sure hoped that it would be so. However, something else nagged in his mind, which was the fact that Anya claimed that Shepherd was the one who betrayed her to Makarov. He took those words with caution, but he knew that there was a chance that her claims were true. Until he really knew who was right and who was wrong, he could not put his full trust in either of them.

Of course, he had other issues to deal with Anya before Shepherd got to her. He had not told many of the others about how he had cracked the launch codes, but he knew already how Anya had reacted to it. Her face was neutral, but he could see from her eyes that she was in utter disbelief. The girl revealed practically nothing through her expression, but her eyes… they told everything.

The boys were all huddled around him and Anya, with MacTavish standing near them, all of them curious to know how he did it, how did Price manage to figure out the launch codes. It could have been anything, but how did he manage to crack it? "What gave you the inspiration?" Roach asked, butting in after countless incessant queries from the rest of the 141.

"Well then, you'd have to thank our girl right here," Price said, gesturing to Anya with his pointed thumb. She glared at him following his answer, and he just shrugged it off like it was nothing. "She's the key to everything that happened, the main reason why we had Intel to carry this mission out anways. Why don't you tell them, Maria?"

Anya sighed. When in the 141, you do not use anyone's real name unless you mean something of utter severity. There was no choice for Anya but to acquiescence his request, if it even was one in the first place. "I knew that there was a submarine here, but I couldn't get it out before the… airport incident," she clarified. That sentence was then trailed by several "oohs" and "ahhs", and she took a deep gulp of breath to add to her statement. "You all know that I came in just before Operation Kingfish, so when I met Price in the Gulag, it was the only thing that I could use to make him believe me that I was from the 141."

Not many of them remembered those days. Most of their recruits had not lasted more than five missions, and those had survived since day one really were MacTavish and Ghost. Price was in a gulag for a couple of years, so it did not count. "But what about the launch codes?" Ghost asked. It was highly unlikely that Anya could have hacked them from the systems in the Monastery.

"That was a spark of inspiration," Price said. "Actually, it only had _four characters_."

"No way!" the Americans amongst them shouted. Four characters?

Price nodded. "Yes, four: A, N, Y and A."

"ANYA?"

MacTavish somehow included himself into the chorus of surprise.

"What sort of shit-filled idiot would use a _name_ as a launch code?" Chemo asked.

Anya's face was red now, really, really red. "How would I know?" she asked. That question was redundant and she knew it. It was her job to _know_. She was the honeypot, the spy, sent to into the lair of the beast to retrieve needed information like that. They all knew how she worked, and they all knew that her methods were the only ones that she could use. She had done great good to their cause, but everyone knew that it was not enough.

MacTavish sighed and walked towards her. "You've done well though," he told her, patting her on the shoulder. "It shows that you've successfully gotten into his head." Price could not help but detect that there was a subtle tone of bitterness when MacTavish said that.

Anya raised an eyebrow as she looked at MacTavish. It was strange for her to hear such words from him. She did not understand what he was trying to say, but when she turned towards him for clarification, he already walked towards the hallway. What did Makarov's using her name as the launch codes of his own nuclear missile have anything to do with her at all?

"Well, whatever it is that you did, Anya, you managed to get Makarov to take the bait," Price interjected, causing her focus to fall on him instead.

"No, he trapped _me_, Price," Anya explained. "Somehow, he knew that I was a spy all along… I don't know how he knew, but he did. He knew that I was going to seduce him, so he _let_ me…" There was a silence all across the room when she stopped speaking. Realization washed over her, and she suddenly understood what Price and MacTavish had hinted. "Are you saying that Makarov has something for me?"

Price nodded. "I'm even insinuating that it's mutual," he said, lighting up another cigar. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

Anya was stunned. She did not expect this question at all, and from that, Price knew that she had never counted this possibility, this complication that was the first danger of her mission… She should never had used any emotion on Makarov, but then again, how was it even humanly possible not to grow any feelings towards the person you saw every day, sharing their beds almost every night?

"I… can't answer that," she retorted, her voice decreasing into a diminuendo as time passed. "I really can't."

"And what if Shepherd asks you?" Price added.

"He never will," Anya answered, and that was uttered with great confidence. "I already gave Shepherd what I had; he has no more use of me."

That was true. Shepherd minded little of what happened to his subordinates, so long that he had the results he wanted. Yes, he would take care of them, but it was only until he was sure that they could deliver. Frankly speaking, he had whored Anya to Makarov to retrieve their Intel, and when he knew that her progress was stagnating, not only did he did not call her back, he threw here there to scrape whatever she could find at the greater danger of her life. Anya would have come back to them a war-criminal, had Makarov not staged her death, for reasons that they did not know at all.

"Look Anya," Ghost offered, "We're all glad that we have our girl back, we really are. Even if you really have a thing for Makarov, you're still our girl. We'll help you get over him like a bad ex, I promise."

Finally, Ghost was able to coerce a smile from her in the least. "Thanks guys," she thanked them, and excused herself from the mess hall. She needed time alone, it had been a long time it seemed, even before that blasted attack on the airport, since she actually was able to think about hearing another's voice in her periphery.

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Land-Base (Location Classified) – Personnel Living Quarters

* * *

Due to the fact that she was the only woman in the 141, she had a four-bunk room all to herself, with an added attached bathroom, because they did not have the budget to build a joint bathhouse and toilet for women. It was also logical to do so, because there was _no way _Anya could share a bathroom with any one of the men, no matter who they were. It felt… different, going back to her own room. It was not the lack of luxury, as opposed to Makarov's apartment in Moscow, but there was something missing, and the thought scared her.

Placing her hands on each side of her head, she sighed. She did not know what came over her. She had spent one year working each day and night hoping that she could come back to all that was before her at the current time, only to catch herself thinking back about the past year.

Knowing that there was nothing else she could do, she stood up and walked around her room. Strangely, the boys had kept her room spick and span, taking great care not to move anything excessively. The boys… they might have been the deadliest soldiers that the NATO armies could gather together, but they were all softies, and she was the only girl who knew this little secret.

She lied down on her bunk, and exhaled deeply. The bed was a single bed, fit for only one person, but it felt empty… The thought never occurred to her when she was in the gulag, probably because she realized that she had started a war between the world's two greatest countries, and that she was also handling the fact that she had to deal with not only Shepherd's betrayal, but how to convince Price that she was from the 141… It was hard to imagine, that she was almost constantly with someone throughout the past year, and it scared her, because that someone was Makarov.

He was a monster, she tried to tell herself over and over again, but it was her failure to take things further, to gain better Intel that caused so many losses in the 141. The death of so many innocents…

But he….

Her train of thought was stopped suddenly by a loud knock on her door.

"Anya, are you in there?" It was MacTavish. She jumped off her bed and opened the door for him. The Scot was not known as a very confrontational man away from the front. He was more reserved, and quiet, delving only into the depths of his own minds.

"Hey," she greeted with a smile and invited him in. He nodded and entered. An awkward silence followed, and they looked at each other until she decided to ask, "So, what you wanted to ask me?"

He sighed and looked into her sapphire eyes. "I don't you want to get it the wrong way, but as a friend, I must ask you… Is there anything _more_ between you and Makarov?" he asked, and immediately she sighed. How was she going to answer that question of his when she did not know the answer herself?

"What we have, MacTavish, is a deal," Anya told him after a moment of thought. "It's an exchange…" She had told them countless times on how she worked, and they understood. However, she knew that it would not be enough to satiate MacTavish. She would have to give him something more… substantial indeed. "Whatever is between us, it's gone now. I promise you, that the moment I realized that I was in the gulag, it all ended."

She did not think that it was a lie that she told MacTavish, because at that point of time, she thought that she needed only time to erase any memory and sensation that Makarov stirred in her heart. MacTavish, on the other hand, upon hearing her words, started to relax. "Anya…" he called her name, and it was so much different than how Makarov would call her: it was filled with care, sincerity. But when Makarov uttered it in his countertenor voice, it sent chills up her spine, filling her being with strange warmth… "Promise me that you'll never go back there."

She smiled and nodded. "I won't, MacTavish, I promise," she reassured him and sent him on his way. That promise she knew she could keep, and she closed the door, knowing that she would not ever break it, even if she really still had feelings for Makarov at that time…

* * *

Vladimir Makarov

The Inner Circle

Inner Circle Safehouse – Prague

* * *

"Are you still thinking about the girl?" Anatoly asked Makarov, catching him stealing a look at the sole photograph of him and Anya, taken together, that he kept in his wallet. It was taken by Yuri, of course, during his many hours spying on her. The photograph depicted them smiling with each other over a cup of coffee. There was no doubt that they were in Paris.

Makarov did not to answer. His slight scowl was a good indication that he really was. "I was wondering what would happen if we met during this conflict," he retorted. "How would she act?" In her days with him, he had made sure that he left a lasting impression on her, and she him, and even if their time together was an elaborate trap set by two countries and by each other, he knew (and he was sure that Anya would agree with him) that their time together in private was genuine. Every touch, every sound, he remembered it all clearly. She was a woman of paradox. An American soldier who had a viable intellect that he enjoyed, a woman whose talents superseded her beauty…

Anatoly laughed out loud. "She would just shoot you," he answered, taking a swig from the can of beer in his hand. Of course, he would say that. Anya's fiery, sarcastic temper her greatest tool; it was only a mask to hide her true self, the emerging strategist, the loyal soldier, and the shrewd scholar. Her talent would be wasted on the Task Force 141. She needed a more… deserving patron, one that would appreciate her abilities better than Shepherd, who only saw her as a means to extract information in exchange for sex. It was… enjoyable, he did not deny it, but he knew that if she were presented to him in her pure, unbridled form… The possibilities were endless.

Harrumphing, he kept his wallet back into his pocket, and turned to his old friend. "She would hesitate if it was me," he suggested. That was all he said to Anatoly, who went back into his quarters to rest, and so did he. He would meet her again, he was, and when that time came, he would make sure that she was his. She would be his.


	24. The Parting

_Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen_

_Task Force 141_

_Task Force 141 Northern Siberian Safehouse_

* * *

_She was in the northern coast of Siberia with MacTavish on a mission to track down a Norwegian ship delivering shipments of weapons to a known Ultranationalist safehouse in the same territory as they were. For three days they waited in that sparse log-cabin with nothing to do, but to keep watch, talk and fiddle with their weapons that they had brought with them. _

"_If I have to look into that God-damned scope one more time, I'm gonna break it," she huffed when it was MacTavish's turn to take watch. She left her Intervention on the mat on the floor and sauntered towards the cot she claimed for herself. Looking out the window, she found nothing else but the white snow, rocky coastline and the odd seal or two. The waters were shallow there, ships would have to be anchored in the middle of the sea, and their wares had to be transported towards the coast by the use of smaller vessels…_

_MacTavish chuckled. "You just need to be more patient," he told her, shaking his head at her frown. She had not complained much, but he knew that boredom was already gnawing at her insides. She was rolling her eyes more often, muttering to herself out of frustration. Thus, he decided to pull her leg. "You know, we won't be able to go back unless we find that ship."_

_Anya's eyes widened and he saw that she actually believed what he said. "Be serious, Captain," she warned him. Her gaze was cold, and her expression was stern. She knew he was joking, and sighed. "Right, and you'll have to be stuck with me until that ship comes here."_

"_I won't mind that, seriously," MacTavish replied with a wink in his eye. "At least neither of us will have to be alone and die of boredom." _

_Her response was to move over to his side and swat him in the arm, rolling her eyes. They remained like that for the next hour, exchanging jokes, insults and the like as they continued their duties. Soon, the sun started to set, and darkness followed. They could no longer hear the arctic animals in the horizon playing, only the lap of the sea upon the rocky beach. The stars above them shone so brightly, and often Anya would wonder why. Was it because they were at the metaphorical roof of the world?_

"_Anya, look!" MacTavish's voice suddenly rang, causing her to jump a little. She raised an eyebrow and allowed herself to be pulled by him towards a wider window, and he pointed up. It was an aurora high in the skies, a red one; the color of fire. _

_Anya did not make a sound at all. She only watched the lights of the aurora dance in the skies, her mouth first held agape, and then closed. In twenty minutes, her neck became tired, and she leaned her head against MacTavish's shoulder. Somehow, with no one to witness it, it felt right… Still, she looked up, and marveled at the beauty that he had just shown her._

"_Too bad the boys back at the base turned down this mission," she said rather cheekily when the aurora ended. "They would've loved to see this… Thanks." She sealed her thanks with a kiss to his cheek, and in the darkness around them (discounting the fire in the hearth), she could not see how red his face had suddenly grown…_

* * *

They did not speak of that incident to anyone, only mentioning in passing in later times that they had seen a red aurora borealis during that mission. For some reason, it just never surfaced… until now. As a man, MacTavish thought that he was of a stronger constitution, but he could not help but to look out for Anya more than he should. The boys just shrugged it off as the sign that she had been finally integrated into their tiny little faction. Besides, someone had to take care of their only girl, and who else but their Captain? Their functions in the Task Force 141 were more or less similar anyways: both of them were snipers and designated shooters, trained to cover other members of the team… In fact, if they were both deployed in the same mission, one would head the formation, while the other would have their six.

Now, as they filed in one by one into the briefing room, Anya sat between Roach and Ghost at the second row. He could overhear their whispered conversation too, due to their proximity. "So, what are you gonna do if you find Makarov?" Roach asked her, because in all technicality, she was the only one among them who had extended contact with Makarov.

"I'll put a round in his head the moment I see him," Anya boasted. It was her hope, of course, that she did so. In fact, everything that Makarov has done affected each and every one of them in such a profound way that once they get their hands on him, he would die a death that few would even wish for their greatest enemies. Makarov had taken their brothers in arms, and for some of them in the 141, their families, through his many terrorist acts… As her own of repayment for his not killing her after the incident at Zakhaev International Airport, she would grant him the quickest death she could give him. "Makarov's mine, boys, I mean it."

Price chuckled at her words. "That's only gonna happen _if_ you find him, sweetheart," he chastised her jokingly. The rest of the room erupted in a bout of good-natured laughter as well. They quieted down when Shepherd entered the briefing room, and immediately, MacTavish fired up the projector so that the General could deliver his briefing.

One by one, the missions that the 141 had taken were all indicated as "offline", including their latest one in Petropavlosk. Strangely, their commander did not mention anything about their rouge mission, but it was mostly because Price and Anya's actions of launching that nuclear missile into the atmosphere that cut off all forms of communication. The only price (no pun intended) however, was the International Space Station. It was rather ironic, because the ISS was built in the goodwill of various nations, _including_ the USA and Russia…

"It's been a tough week, people," Shepherd started after clearing his throat, the universal sign of demanding the audience's silence. "We've lost more than we've ever dreamed, but we will recover." As he spoke, they were shown headlines and reports about the situation in the US, and it did not look good at all. "I've got a blank check, and we're gonna spend every cent killin' Makarov. Despite what the world may say, we are not savages, we don't kill civilians. We use precision. There's an evil man hiding in these shadows, and we're gonna bring him to the light. Once his face is revealed, we will write history, people."

Once Shepherd was done with his little speech, all of them focused on what was being displayed on the projector screen. Their satellite system began scanning the various areas, and within minutes, it came up with two possible locations where Makarov was suspected to be at. One was at the Georgian-Russian border, Makarov's safehouse-cum-estate in the Caucasus Mountains, and the other was a U.S. military vehicle disposal yard, known as the "Boneyard" in Kandahar, Afghanistan, where a suspected arms deal was going to take place.

The very mention of a new arms deal caused Anya to raise an eyebrow. Makarov had already received Rojas' massive weapons shipment enough to man about ten thousand men, why would he need more weapons? There was certainly something amiss, but Anya knew that she could not say anything about that, lest she give Shepherd more reason to kill her before she could accomplish anything. "I've been to the estate in the Caucasus Mountains before, it is heavily armed and well-manned," Anya added, remembering her time there and her first meeting with Alexi, Makarov's second in command. "It was his grandfather's…"

However, Shepherd was quick to dismiss her. "These are the last safe havens for Makarov and his men," he commented, and looked at all of his combatants. They were battle-weary, itching to get into the fight because it was going to be their last. He knew that they would do _whatever_ it took to wipe Makarov's face from the face of the world.

"Sounds like we gotta be at two places at once," Price observed. He looked back towards the boys and found determination, but from Anya, he sensed only worry… He felt it too, but it was only a nagging feeling, and attributed it to the customary nervousness and over-cautiousness before every mission that he had undertaken.

"Impossible?" Shepherd prodded further, knowing that none of them would back down from their very last challenge.

"Not for the 141," Price answered on the behalf of their unit.

It was at that time when Ghost and Anya nodded at one another. "Fifty-fifty chance to take out Makarov, eh?" he asked rhetorically, "Captain Price, request permission to take the safehouse with Roach and Anya,"

Naturally, since Anya had already been there before, she would be of great help to the team that was tasked there. Price saw no problem about it. "Granted," he told Ghost. "Soap and I will take the Boneyard in Afghanistan."

However, Shepherd had something to say against Price's decision. "Wait, Price, MacTavish, Anya goes with the two of you," he proclaimed. He did not say why, but even if it was so, there was no way they could overturn is order. However, that directive only made Anya more suspicious. What had he planned there in Kandahar?

"We will cut off all revenues of escape, this war ends now."

* * *

Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Land-base – Location Classified

* * *

Those that who were either team to hunt Makarov down were now gathered at the basketball court with those closest to them. They were all excited, excited because it was going to be their last mission. "It's been a great year guys, thanks," Roach thanked all of them, toasting them with the soda-can in his hand.

"Don't mention it, Roach," MacTavish replied. "You've been a great part of the team." Roach, the ever introverted and bashful, immediately blushed, and he decided to embarrass him even further. "Clumsiness aside, mate, you're all good."

All of them rang with laughter, and they all recounted tales of how Roach almost died every single time. Anya was particularly curious of how he managed to escape a favela full of Brazilian militia and jump onto the ladder-rope of Nikolai's helicopter. However, she was not given a chance to delve in her curiosity, because the boys designated her to be the next one carrying out a speech.

"Let's face it, without you boys, I swear that I would've gone crazy back in Moscow," she admitted, regarding each and every one of them with her sapphire eyes, resting her gaze finally on MacTavish. "I want to thank you for accepting this only girl here in the 141, and for supporting me, no matter what I choose." There was a point in time during Operation Honeypot when she thought that she could never go back to them, and it scared her. She had been a soldier ever since she graduated from college, but she only truly found her home with the 141. "I promise to haunt every one of you when I die," she joked, before pulling MacTavish into the center, much to his annoyance.

Taking a deep breath, MacTavish knew that this day would surely come. "Well mates, this is it," he said to every single one of them. "Everything we've worked so hard for these few years are finally coming to an end. We've lost many of us along the way, but I promise you that they won't die in vain. We'll take that bastard Makarov down if it's the last thing we do on this mission!"

Everyone cheered, and they were prudent enough not to drag Price in. In the next remaining hour, they all said their own well-wishes to one another, taking photos as well, because there might not be another opportunity like that, ever. There were even some of the more mischievous ones who raided the mess hall for vats of soft drinks, dunking them over unsuspecting members of their fold as their last prank.

"No matter what happens, we'll always be the Task Force 141," Price said when they were all required to board their respective helicopters. "Just focus on the mission, and I'm sure that we'll see each other again real soon." He said those words with the hopes that they would truly meet again in the field of victory. He said those words with the desire to see the war end, and Makarov dead.

If only he knew that it took more than the brotherhood of the 141, their collective toils and suffering, to end the malice that was about to cover all of them.


	25. Loose Ends

Vladimir Makarov

The Inner Circle

The Boneyard, Kandahar, Afghanistan

* * *

So, it had already come to that day… the day when Shepherd was going to "uphold the end of his bargain". He would be a fool indeed to actually believe that the wily American general would not try to destroy every remaining loose end that day. He, on the other hand, would be an imbecile if he did not burn every last form of resistance in the form of Shepherd's forces to the ground. He knew that this was the opportunity both him and Shepherd needed to make sure the other had no chance to remain standing on the battlefield.

Whatever the case was, he had come across Intel that Shepherd has already managed to amass some force like his own personal army, known as the Shadow Company, which was a very apt name indeed. This organization, like the Task Force 141, was recruited from the best of the best of Shepherd's already elite subordinates, the only difference would be that all of its recruits were American, and were loyal only to Shepherd himself. They would be a difficult foe indeed, but they were predictable, not like the 141, whose members were regarded as individual assets to form a greater whole. Their members had the brains and the power and they could think it all through. He knew that the very moment the Shadow Company fired upon both his forces and whoever from the 141 was sent there to Kandahar; those of the 141 would immediately turn their backs on their former master.

"Sir, we have received information that Shepherd intends to send the Task Force 141 to the safehouse in the Caucasus Mountains," one of Alexi's subordinates told him as he looked towards the span of abandoned vehicles, mostly forgotten planes and tanks.

He nodded, and processed the warning in his mind before sending the agent back to his work. He had already prepared for that outcome. His men, on the other hand, had located the site of Shepherd's main operations, and it was right there in Kandahar as well. In fact, the discovery of this site, known as Site Hotel Bravo, was done partly by Anya's hand. But during the time when she was with them, they were only able to guess that it was a mere US safehouse for one of its various military organizations due to the lack of supporting information.

With the possibilities of him being in two separate places, the Task Force 141 would have to appear separately as well. With the amount of their operatives that would show up halved, it made the job easier for both Shepherd and himself. The only question that remained to him was: who was going to Kandahar?

Would it be Price, whom the 141 so successfully removed from the Monastery, along with Anya? Or would it be Captain MacTavish, the man whom he knew as Price's protégé in all forms of the word, the equally capable white knight of the Task Force 141? More importantly, where would Anya be headed to?

"Alexi," he told his right hand man, "We cannot come so far only to lose everything here. We cannot allow Shepherd to destroy all that we have built with our own blood. Make sure that you do not show any quarter, and kill anyone who stands in your way."

His men cheered at his words, and he excused himself from that area to think, because he knew that unless Site Hotel Bravo was destroyed, he and his men would never be able to progress to the next part of his plan… What would be the best alternative?

His thoughts were then interrupted by Anatoly, who told him, "They're here".

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen

Task Force 141

The Boneyard, Kandahar, Afghanistan.

* * *

From the very moment Shepherd ordered her to go with Price and MacTavish, Anya knew that something was about to go wrong, very, very wrong. It almost seemed to be the most convenient way to get them killed together, and at the same place, what with this new faction, the Shadow Company that was assigned to move them from their landbase to Kandahar…

"Something is wrong," she gestured to Price, using their own unique sign language when she knew that no one was looking. But she could not tell him anything more because by that time, someone from the Shadow Company was already watching them.

Price took note of what she told him and nodded his head. The fact that Shepherd split the 141 into half, and the fact that he actually allowed for him and MacTavish to be in the same mission together as active combatants, really meant that he _was_ prepared to have two of the 141's captains and Anya to be killed with the rest of the team. That, added with the fact that Anya was the one who definitely knew everything that went on between Shepherd and Makarov… He was only thankful that Nikolai was once again their transport operator for this mission.

MacTavish, on the other hand, could not help but heave out a sigh of relief. He had taken Anya's anxiety as her worries over the possibility of meeting Makarov again, while Price's expression was unreadable as ever. He saw this mission as the end to all their struggles, to end all the fighting and suffering that they had done for the past five years. He knew that they had to carry that mission out to the best of his abilities to ensure that all of them succeeded.

"You seem to be really high right now," Anya teased as she sat next to him. "You're really psyched that this is all going to end, aren't you?" At that moment in time, she finally understood why Makarov deemed her as such a good "actress". She could see her reflection on the helicopter's windows, and her face was contorted into this… ecstatic mask that mimicked MacTavish's own.

"Yeah," MacTavish replied, looking out the window nearest to him. "What about you, aren't you glad that you can finally go back to New York?" He had always known that her dream was to further her studies. In fact, she enlisted with the US Army Rangers so that she could cover her college tuition fees. By joining the Task Force 141, Anya was only able to pay off her college debt, but was even able to take home more to support herself should she wish to get herself back into school again.

She smiled and looked down at her feet, wondering how in the world that he could even remember her telling him that. "Sadly, I don't think I can," she answered him. "Shepherd told me that I was declared KIA in the media coverage of the attack on the airport. My parents already received my coffin with a flag."

MacTavish grimaced. It never occurred to him that she was never to see her family again, and to add salt to the wound, she was an only child… "I'm sorry," he apologized. He was silenced by her smile.

"Well, at least they don't have to worry about me anymore," she added. "My only regret is that they would think that their daughter was the one who instigated WWIII…"

Her words were cut short when Nikolai announced that they had already arrived at their destination. "This is where I'm going to drop you," he called from the cockpit. "Good luck everyone!"

Without further ado, they all moved towards the back of the plane where the hatch was, and they of the 141 jumped first, followed by those in the Shadow Company.

Once their two feet were on the ground, everyone became silent. The mission had already begun. "Come on, boys," Anya told the Shadow Company men, "Try to keep up."

* * *

Vladimir Makarov

The Inner Circle

The Boneyard, Kandahar, Afghanistan.

* * *

"I see Anya, Price, and MacTavish," Anatoly told him, looking through his binoculars.

"Clearly, Shepherd wants to kill us all in one place," Makarov commented, taking the binoculars from Anatoly. There was… something different about Anya. Her head was held up high, as though she had regained the spark she had lost when she discovered that she was betrayed. Did she not know that she was walking into a trap? He also managed to note that she dyed her hair, but why, he could not fathom; it was a question to be answered at another time, anyways.

He watched as the intruders slowly entered the Boneyard. As he had predicted, they brought the Shadow Company with them. How… convenient. Even more convenient was that those that came to fight against him and his men clearly outnumbered his forces. It was a miscalculation on his part. He had failed to anticipate the sheer force of Shepherd's new faction... "We have their frequency," Alexi reported, and gave him a set of headphones. Whatever they said would be only for Makarov's ears, and he knew that there was not a thing that Makarov wanted to miss.

"Captain Price, any luck in Afghanistan?" a voice that Makarov did not recognize asked after confirming that there was no sign of him in his Caucasus Mountain estate.

"Plenty… at least fifty hired guns here, but no sign of Makarov," Price mused. "Perhaps our Intel was off?"

Makarov harrumphed silently. They did not know how right their Intel was. No doubt, Anya contributed to their progress.

"Well, the quality of our Intel is about the change," the other voice clarified. "This safehouse is a bloody goldmine."

At that point of time, Makarov heard Anya's chuckle over the radio. "Of course it's a bloody goldmine," she interjected. "If you're lucky, you can even find a gold bar or two there."

"Copy that," Shepherd butted in. "Ghost, have your team collect everything you can for operations playbook. Names, places, contacts… everything."

Ghost, the newcomer in Makarov's eyes, apparently did not need Shepherd's orders to proceed to transfer all the information. "Already on it, sir," he replied, "Makarov will have nowhere to run."

"That's the idea. I'm bringing up the extraction force, ETA five minutes. Get that Intel, Shepherd out."

Makarov took off the headphones and immediately, his men started to prepare a mobile receiver for him. "They have a DSM, and they're going to extract everything we have…" he told Anatoly and Alexi, who did not seem worried at all. He did not only have one safehouse, and all his information was not stored in only one computer. Even if they did manage to extract the data, and if he failed to get rid of Shepherd in any way, that data was already old. It would not amount to anything in terms of bringing Shepherd closer to getting rid of him.

"What are we going to do about them?" Alexi asked, clearly referring to the 141 in his safehouse.

"We don't have to move a finger," he answered as his aides strapped the mobile receiver on him. "All we have to do here is to hold our ground here, and make sure that Shadow Company does not kill us"

Already, the frontlines of his men had already engaged the Task Force 141, and he heard Anya covering MacTavish while he advanced forwards. Her time by his side was more… conceptual than practical, but he knew from the precious few times when they were in the field together, he realized that Anya was the perfect soldier. If fate would have allowed it, she would not be a mere corporal, but perhaps a captain like Price and MacTavish.

It would not take long before the Shadow Company started to attack the 141. He was sure of it. "Spread out," he told his men, and headed into the Boneyard with the rest of them. Ten minutes passed, and still, there was nothing. They were still looking out for him, and suddenly, he heard Anya's voice.

"Captain, I spotted Makarov's second in command!" she exclaimed, and shot Alexi in the shoulder, pinning him down. "Where is Makarov?" she asked him, but he did not speak at all. Instead, he kicked her and ran off to a corner. "I'll kill that god-damned coward if it's the last thing I do…"

"What about Makarov?" MacTavish asked her, and she gave him a negative answer. However, she stopped in her tracks, and to Makarov's ears, her voice could not only be heard through radio, but also real time. He hid behind a fallen tank, and saw a hint of a feminine body at the corner of his eyes.

"No… no sign of him," Anya replied. "I'll be snooping around, so I'll have to go quiet for a while."

"Alright, Anya," Price told her. "Be careful. Tell us if you see anything."

Makarov heard Anya approaching, and quickly pulled her towards him. "I have been waiting for you," he whispered into her ear as he had her pinned against the tank. However, her reaction upon seeing him was not as he expected.

"You shouldn't be here!" she hissed. "You should be in your safehouse!" He raised an eyebrow when he heard those words. Was she concerned for him? "Do you know that the 141 was split in two just to hunt you down? Why can't you be there?"

In her anxiety over the fate of her friends at the Caucasus Mountain, she started to strike him, but he caught her arm mid-air before she was even able to hit him. "I do not think that it is that simple, Anya," he told her behind gritted teeth. "You know that Shepherd will try to kill us to cover his deeds no matter where we are!"

Anya knew what Makarov was talking about. "You told me in the gulag that I would have to work for you… You already knew that this would happen," she told him, defeated. She remembered how vehemently she had protested against his request… How could she have known that whatever he had predicted would come true?

"Trust me, your forces and mine will have to work together for the day, if all of us are to survive," Makarov told her. "You know what the Shadow Company is. You know full well that neither of us are able to overcome such a force today… I am more concerned of preserving the lives of my men as of now."

Anya was confused. "Why are you telling me this now?" she asked him, looking into his heterochromic eyes. She knew that he was a ruthless leader, but she also understood that he was a dedicated leader as well.

"The time for us to kill each other will come, my dear," he said, tipping her chin. "It is not now." With those words, he brought his lips to hers. He longed to taste her lips once again, and once he did, he let her go. "I hope that you are well until that day comes."

She did not let him go. "I'll be the one who will kill you then," she told him, getting on her tip-toes to kiss him as he did her. "Keep yourself for me." It was her body's natural reaction to his presence, and the look of disbelief on her face that she would even actually do it… it furrowed her brow, and he could only smile at her antics.

"Face it Anya," he whispered to her once more. "We cannot escape one another… But I promise you, that I will be the one who will end your life as well, after all the loose ends have been tied…"

Anya understood what Makarov meant. He would not meet her in a time when both of their forces were at the brink of death due to the acts of a traitorous US General. "When all the loose ends have been tied then," she said to him, taking one last look at him. She waited for the day when that day would come… only then… only then when she would be free of him.

Before that time had to come, there would have to be no loose ends.


	26. The Enemy of My Enemy

Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

The Boneyard, Kandahar, Afghanistan.

* * *

"Captain, duck!" Anya shouted towards him. He did not know whence she had appeared, but he knew that if her warning had come later, he would have already made his maker. The Shadow Company soldier that was behind him would have shot him in his vitals had he not ducked in time. She quickly killed that man with a round through the eyes and rushed to his side to pull him up. "He's not the only one," she told him, wincing slightly as he grabbed onto her arm for support when he stood up. Clearly, she had been grazed by a bullet.

This was not supposed to be happening. Shadow Company and the 141 were all under Shepherd, they were on the same side, why were they attacked?

"Price, we have to warn the others!" MacTavish commed Price, whom he discovered was not far from him and Anya as well. "They might be in danger!"

Price nodded. He knew what to do. "Cover me," he told the other two, and ran into one of the disintegrated airplane frames. The area that still had any form of covering was only enough for one person, so they would have to defend him as he contacted those of the 141 who were in Makarov's mountain safehouse. "Ghost, come in, this is Price! We're under attack by Shepherd's men at the Boneyard!" he exclaimed at first, hoping that there would be a response. He looked out towards Anya and MacTavish and then shouted towards them, "Watch the left flank!" advice which they promptly regarded. "Do not trust Shepherd… I say again, do not trust Shepherd!"

Not a sound came from their end. There was not even a frantic cry for Roach's clumsiness in the field by Ghost or Archer… Just utter silence. MacTavish refused to resign to the belief that half their faction had been decimated by their own leader. "Roach, Ghost?" he called to them. "Come in, Ghost, do you copy… Does anyone copy?"

There was no point of trying any more. "They're dead, Soap," Price told him, his voice more condescending than comforting, because in any case, he thought that the younger Captain should have already been used to this sort of loss. "Shepherd's cleaning house, I'm making my way back to you."

"Shepherd betrayed us," MacTavish spat, his voice filled with not only bitterness, but poison as well. He had never imagined that this day would come, but now that he thought about it, it seemed that Shepherd had planned everything, utterly everything, since Day One.

"It won't be the first time he's done that," Anya uttered under her breath. At that point in time, MacTavish thought that she had been referencing the fact that Shepherd would abandon personnel whom he had deployed at missions that he thought were lost causes, and did not give much thought to what she actually meant.

"Have to trust someone to be betrayed… I never did," Price commented on the issue. He knew that the Americans were always… cautious when around Shepherd, given his track record. However, there was no doubting that Shepherd could be a very, very, charismatic leader. If you were good at anything, this would be the man who would take good care of you because you would be a valuable asset to him as a subordinate… It had always been like this. Frankly, it was a little ironic that he would choose to believe the girl who had been a honeypot revealed by the enemy than his immediate superior, but that was the fact. He knew that he was going to continue to trust Anya as well, just as he had trusted MacTavish since their days with the British SAS.

The girl sighed. "You'd think that we would've learned that Shepherd would not drop us when he's already playing with new toys," Anya said, covering both men as they reloaded their weapons. Shepherd had never been a leader that she would follow, but he was one that she had to. Truthfully, she silently thought that Makarov was a slightly better one than Shepherd was.

Well, there was nothing else for them to do but to get out of that God-forsaken place to regroup and recalculate their options. "Nikolai," Price beckoned, looking into the skies for any sign of their faithful pilot and friend. "Do you have our location?"

Nikolai gave a positive answer. "Da, inbound, Price," he replied, "but I am not the only one. You've got Shepherd's men on one side and Makarov's on the other…"

"We'll have to just take them take them all out then," Price interjected, but Nikolai had something else better in his mind.

"Or let them take each other out… Either way, I'll see you on the other side, my friends."

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen

Task Force 141

The Boneyard, Kandahar, Afghanistan.

* * *

"Soap, Anya, Shepherd's trying to wipe us out and Makarov at the same time," Price told them over the comms, reiterating once again their precarious situation. It was decided that they should split up to prevent their chances of getting killed at the same time. Once again, Anya was on her own, but this time, Makarov was nowhere in sight. They would have to remain there in the Boneyard until Nikolai could arrive with their ride out, and with two factions taking one another out and them in between, it was an ordeal that would have taken anyone's soul, knowing that they were betrayed, outnumbered and outgunned. "Head for rally point Bravo to the west," he added a few seconds later, "trust no one!"

Anya obeyed Price's orders completely. In fact, she had already foreseen that this would happen ever since she realized that she was going back to the 141. Mentally and emotionally prepared for this, she knew what she must do. In all honesty, the only outcome that she had feared would be MacTavish's realization that she and Price already knew about Shepherd's betrayal.

As she advanced, she slowly let her emotions unravel, the first time she had truly let herself feel ever since she had been deployed in Russia. The dejection, the self-hate for allowing herself to be used by Shepherd to bring about outright war between Russia and the US, the guilt for not asserting that she would better serve the team at the Caucasus Mountains… She was silent, because she knew that if she spoke a word at all, her self-control would falter, and she would break, as she should have broken a long time ago.

"Anya, did you see Makarov at all?" Price asked her through the comms after she shot a man who had his laser sight on her. "Sweetheart, we need to contact him, there's only one way to do this!"

"Yes I did," she answered, and there was no hint of hesitation in her voice at all. It was a good sign to herself, because it was a sign that Makarov's presence no longer affected her in any way. "But first, we need to get Nikolai here or we'll be sitting ducks!"

It was apparent that Price agreed with her. "Already on it," he told her, and contacted Nikolai right after. "Nikolai, this is Price. Be advised, the LZ is hot, I repeat, the LZ is hot!"

"Ok, Captain Price," Nikolai replied, "I am on my way! Try to get the situation under control before I get there, ok?"

"Right, whatever you say, just get here sharpish!" Price answered rather haughtily. He was a little busy at the moment, trying to get a few of Makarov's men off his back. He was lucky that they turned their attentions to the ones from Shadow Company. "Soap, Anya, let Makarov and Shepherd's men kill each other off as much as you can. We can use their comms to listen on their radio traffic. I'm going to contact Makarov."

Both MacTavish and Anya were silent as they each progressed towards the LZ, both of them waiting for Price and Makarov's conversation. It would be brief, but she knew that it was necessary. Her sapphire eyes looked towards the horizon and she began to catch sight of the runway into the distance, and MacTavish as well. He patted her on the shoulder as they took cover in a cockpit between the firing lines where Makarov's men as well as Shepherd's were fighting it out.

"Makarov, this is Price. Shepherd's a war hero now, he's got your operations playbook and a blank check. Give me what you've got on Shepherd and I'll do the rest," Price coaxed Makarov, but still, there was no response. "I know that you can hear me on this channel, Makarov. You and I both now that you won't last a week…"

"And neither will you," Makarov answered, knowing that Price was right, to a certain extent. There was a hint of… annoyance in his voice, knowing that this time, he had no ability to crawl out of whatever Shepherd had planned for them alive and able to continue his plans.

Price, on the other hand, would have none of it. "Makarov, you ever hear the old saying, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend?'" he asked.

"Price, one day you'll find that this cuts both ways," Makarov warned, exhaling heavily. Anya knew it as the sign that Makarov was going to decide on something that he had already been weighing heavily. He was going to swallow his pride for that moment, and let them do the work. "Shepherd is using Site Hotel Bravo," he added. "Anya, you know where it is, I'll see you all in hell."

Still, Anya was silent. She did not wish to give any inclination that she knew about what Makarov had said. Price was the one who ended the conversation. "Looking forward to it, give our regards to Zakhaev if you get there first." The air was silent again, and no one said anything further, save for Price, rallying MacTavish and Anya towards the runway, westwards from their location. However, there in the horizon, they saw that the skies were not in their favor, and Price was worried that it would mar any chances of their escape. Nikolai had to be there as soon as possible. "Nikolai, where the hell are you?"

"Sandstorms around Kandahar, Captain Price," Nikolai explained ruefully. "I need to fly around them, I'm not being paid enough to crash my plane!" Moments passed, and he spoke again, "Price, I am approaching the Boneyard, I see that you do not have situation under control… Very unsafe to land, it looks like when I was in Afghanistan with the Soviets!"

"Nikolai, just shut up and land the bloody plane, we're on our way!" There was no choice for Nikolai but to do as Price said and trudged towards the runway.

MacTavish, on the other hand, kept his focus on Anya. She was one of his last remaining subordinates, the last remnant of the 141 that he held so dear, and yet, from Makarov's own mouth that Anya knew about Site Hotel Bravo… Why didn't she tell him? "You have a lot of explaining to do when we're out of this," he told her behind gritted teeth.

"I will, don't worry," she told him, the expression on her face unreadable. She had hidden the fact that she had helped Makarov discover Site Hotel Bravo's location because they had been notified that US soldiers were using the cave networks as a safehouse. She had no knowledge that in truth, it was a fully functioning base, much less, it was one to be used by Shepherd and Shadow Company… She had concealed it from the rest of them, only because she did not want to give Shepherd one more reason to kill her before she could stop Makarov.

It did not take a long time for them to reach the runway, but by that time, Price was already frantic. "Soap, Anya, we don't have much time, Nikolai's not gonna wait for us, hurry!" he shouted towards them when he caught sight of the both of them. They were in luck; Rook, who had been with Price all along, had been able to discover a useable jeep to secure their escape. "We're leaving, get in the jeep!"

The two of them jumped into the jeep, MacTavish at the front passenger seat and Anya at the back with Price. Together, they shot down whatever vehicles that gave chase as they headed towards Nikolai's landing plane. "Nikolai, drop the bloody ramp, we're coming in!" Price yelled when they were directly behind the C-130 that Nikolai was piloting, at the exact moment when Rook was shot in the head and killed. "Rook is down, Soap, take the wheel!"

With his left hand, Soap guided the jeep to ascend the ramp, stopping just when they reached the end of the hangar. "Good job, Captain," Anya wheezed, and got out of the jeep while Price jumped down to find some formaldehyde to preserve Rook's body. What she was met with, was nothing more than a glare on MacTavish's part.

"Talk, Anya," he snarled at her, "You obviously know more than we do. What did Shepherd do?"

Anya took a deep breath and looked at him in the eyes. "He was already in it with Makarov from day one," she told him, "Shepherd exposed me as a spy for the US before the massacre at the airport… He worked with Makarov to make this war happen…"

MacTavish's eyes widened. At that moment, he stopped speaking. He stopped because the terrible truth; that if Anya was right, then the 141 existed because Shepherd _wanted_ to hunt Makarov down. Now that they've found him and his plans, all their efforts were no longer needed, and they had to be destroyed, because they knew too much…

It was all a lie...


	27. The Mourning

Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Hidden Loyalist Safehouse – Kandahar, Afghanistan

* * *

They had come into the Loyalist safehouse that Nikolai brought them to battered, not only in the physical sense, but also from deep within them. The very fact that Shepherd's betrayal of the Task Force 141 had just only sunk in for MacTavish, and he had been silent ever since Anya told him everything about what she had found out on Shepherd.

"_He was already in it with Makarov since day one… Shepherd exposed me as a spy before the massacre at the airport," _Anya's explanations on the issue still rung in his head, even though he was alone in the living area of the safehouse. She told him how she had discovered her files in Makarov's office; how Makarov himself had offered her the opportunity to go back to his side so that she could exact her vengeance on Shepherd. It amazed him that she had turned Makarov down so blatantly, in fact, he did not even know if that claim was true, that she was so noble that she would rather die than betray her country. He even voiced those thoughts to Price while Anya had retreated to the showers while Nikolai checked on his plane.

"I was in the cell right opposite to Anya's when Makarov came to see her back in the Monastery, Soap," Price said to him. "I heard every word of their conversation, and Anya really did refuse Makarov's offer. She came in unconscious and wounded, and his doctors literally rushed to revive her from whatever he used to fake her death, and he came to see her when she was showing signs of waking." He was there from the moment Anya had arrived, and his eyes never left her trail ever since then. The fact that she was a 141 operative was new to him at the time, but when he searched the reserves of his memory, he did remember her as the FNG that arrived just before his capture. Anyone with her amount of skills and sharp eye was difficult to forget, let alone a soldier of her sex.

MacTavish groaned. "I don't know who to trust anymore," he told Price. "Anya's a good soldier, but…" he paused, trying to find the right words to say. "She's been exposed to Makarov for far too long…" It was no mistake to say that one of the reasons MacTavish was so reluctant for Anya to remain in Russia for Operation Honeypot was that he feared that Makarov might have converted her to his cause instead. She had returned from Moscow a changed woman. Yes, her former fiery attitudes still remained, but there was something in her that she was trying to hide from them, even from him. On the other hand, there was Shepherd, the man that he had followed with such blind loyalty that he could not believe what a fool he was to do so.

Price was silent. At that moment of time, he needed to listen to whatever MacTavish had to say, because he really needed to let out all of his frustrations. MacTavish had always been a simple soldier, where things like intrigue and the politics behind their line of work never really mattered to him although there was a chance that they might affect him in one way or the other. He would do things because he was asked to, because it was his duty to do so, nothing more, and nothing less. There were almost a hundred of them, just that morning, and now, all that remained of the 141 were just the two of them and Anya… It was most certainly a time that no one, absolutely no one, deserved to go through, much less MacTavish.

"I'm to blame for all this," a clear, feminine voice cut through the tense air. It was Anya, fresh out from the shower. Her eyes were wet and puffy, the first sight and indication to Price and MacTavish that she had been crying. She did not speak further, but she sat down next to MacTavish, who did not look at her at all. He feared to see her tears, because it reminded him of what they had lost that day.

"No, sweetheart," Price said to her. "You've done what you could. Even if you stopped Makarov, Shepherd was still gonna try something else. His goal is his own glory, and he'd do anything to get it." He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked at her. "You've held up for so long now, Anya, don't give up now. You know that we can fight this…"

Anya nodded, and forced a smile through her tears. It made Price sigh to see the two of them like that, but he knew that they needed to sort it out for themselves. He had not been led the 141 for several years now, and some of the ones that he knew were either dead or had left their faction, apart from Ghost and a select few others. Anya and MacTavish, on the other hand, knew every single one of them, and they had fought and lived with them in close proximity. The loss of the 141 was theirs and theirs alone.

Thus, he left the two of them together, on the pretext of needing a smoke, and to think in private. He was sure that they needed that time alone as well.

"They're probably at a better place right now," MacTavish commented, shifting his ice-blue eyes towards Anya, who was still sobbing silently. It hurt him to see her in such pain, and it hurt him more in knowledge that there was nothing he could do to stop it, because he was feeling the same way as well. The feeling that they should have been there at the Caucasus Mountains, that they actually went forward with the plan to split their faction in favor of a two-pronged attack to stop Makarov. "They won't know what hit them, so, they must've gone on their way knowing that they've done something right."

For a moment there, her sobbing stopped, and she looked up towards him, still trembling, still shaking. "I'm so sorry," she murmured through her tears, not even realizing that he had gotten much closer to her, close enough to draw her into his arms. It was a gesture that she had welcomed, a pure one, without any intent other than to give her comfort. She had always looked to MacTavish for leadership, and at that time, he was the one who gave her the solace that she so gravely needed. As he held her, she cried, not speaking, not thinking, but letting out all the pain that she felt. Flashes of the death she had caused at Zakhaev International Airport went through her mind, how she had fought to retrieve the plans for the nuclear submarine at Petropavlosk, the elation and joy she had felt when she returned to the 141… She let it all out, holding one of MacTavish's hands, feeling the other gently squeezing her forearm.

MacTavish joined her as well in her anguish. But his tears, they were silent. He had lost his brothers that day, and no one was going to bedruge him them. He had lived through seeing the deaths of his comrades before, and the pain had been so hard to bear that he had suffered briefly, but severely, deep in the reserves of his mind. With Anya there, he was able to channel and release his grief. With Anya there, he had someone to share that grief with…

At that moment in time, the two of them realized that they would fight to the death for one another, because there was no turning back, and also because so long they survived, the mandate of the 141 remained the same. They would hunt down Makarov, to ensure that the efforts of their brothers were not wasted, and kill anyone else who stood in their way.

* * *

Nikolai

Loyalist / Task Force 141 Transport Contractor

Hidden Loyalist Safehouse – Kandahar, Afghanistan

* * *

"Soap and Anya are fast asleep," Nikolai told Price, who was watching the stars on the rooftop of the safehouse while smoking on yet another cigar, that chain-smoking old man.

"Good," Price said, getting up from his perch on the roof. "They'd feel better in the morning." He, like MacTavish, had lost his entire unit twice in the span of five years. Yes, there was grief; yes, there was suffering, but he had already learned to put the past behind him, and not to dwell in whatever made him angry or sad. It did not do well for the soul, especially for a person in his line of work. Nikolai had worked with him for long enough to understand that about him.

However, the Russian pilot had something to add as well, to lighten the mood a little. "You know Price, they look quite adorable together," he said, peering into the window, where MacTavish and Anya slept, slumped over one another under two rough, but thick blankets. "Don't you think so?"

"I wouldn't bet on it, Nikolai," Price replied as he got down from the roof and looked through the same window as Nikolai did. "Anya's still has some… unresolved issues regarding Makarov. My guess is that she's developed something for the bastard and she doesn't even know it yet."

"Da, only Soap see what he wants to see, I guess," Nikolai sighed. That was the nature of MacTavish. Whether it was a strength of his or a flaw, he did not know, but it was the truth, so much so that Price agreed with him. "I just hope that for their sake they manage to work something out. Or Anya will have to live with the guilt that she's in love with the man who tore the world apart."

"Same here," Price agreed. "There's no way that she and Makarov can hit it on. The girl's too loyal a soldier to do that. But, that's just a guess, after all. Maybe she's already gotten over him?"

For Anya's sake, they hoped that Price was right, if not for herself, then, for the 141, because she was all that remained for the two Captains. She had returned to them with a burden so great on her soul that she did not share, and whatever its contents, it concerned all of them.

"Don't worry, I won't run to Makarov at any opportunity I have," once again, Anya's voice was heard, interrupting their conversation. Her eyes were still swollen, but at least, there was a calm that surrounded her, that had never been felt before since she returned with Price. "I know that the two of you are thinking, but I promise you… my duty is with you guys, and I won't let the 141 down, ever."

She knew that she had done nothing to prove her loyalty to the 141, and she was determined to regain and keep their trust. She knew that she had to cut every down every tie she had formed with Makarov, no matter how he had made her felt the year previous. She had to show Price and MacTavish, and also Nikolai, that she would not abandon them at such a crucial time…

"I knew you won't, sweetheart," Price returned, "I just told Soap that I was there when you rejected the bastard's offer to work with him."

With that, her eyes widened. "You were there?" she asked him, and he told her that she could not have seen him, because his cell was not lit, and that it was at night when Makarov had seen her. Soon, she started to shed tears again, but those were not tears of pain, they were of relief. "And you told MacTavish about it?" There was another nod from Price, and she thanked him profusely.

"You're one of us, Anya," Price continued, with a half-smile that rivaled hers. "That's enough for us."

At that moment, Nikolai just had to join in. "Da, Anya, do not worry," he added. "We'll take care of you from here on out."

"Thanks guys," she mouthed, and hugged the two of them. She had found her home once again, and she was never going to let them go. "I'll never leave you too."

* * *

HAN: Hello there~ ^.^ I'm back! I thank all of you for your patience, and staying with me throughout my absence, for the fact is that real life interferes, and this fic had to be halted so I could do my work. I do hope you like this chapter!


	28. Just Like Old Times

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen

Task Force 141

Hidden Loyalist Safehouse – Kandahar, Afghanistan

* * *

When they had awoken, they did nothing but plan, and plan, and plan. On their various maps, she had told Price, MacTavish and Nikolai where Site Hotel Bravo was, remembering clearly where she and Makarov had discovered it. She had seen the entrance to that place before, but no further. "It's in a cave system below a freeway," she told them, right here," and marked a spot on the topmost map.

MacTavish looked at her and asked her, "How did you find out about this place?"

"That Intel came from one of Makarov's spies planted next to President Vorshevsky, and he sent me and one of his agents there to verify the claim. At that time, we weren't able to tell if Shepherd was leading the Americans there, but we knew that it was called Site Hotel Bravo. It was confirmed that Shepherd was using it as a base three days before the attack on Zakhaev International Airport."

A deep silence blanketed them as they started to look at the map again. They now had the location of Shadow Company's base, but they hesitated, not because they did not trust Anya, but because they knew that they were clearly at a disadvantage. They knew that they were going to lose their lives if they attacked Site Hotel Bravo, but if they were going to die, then they were going to die _after_ they had achieved what they wanted. They would not die for nothing at all.

"Well, it's settled then," Price told them. "We either we stop Shepherd from making his own history or we hide in the shadows for the rest of our lives just to live." The implications were grim, and in fact, if death was part and parcel with either path, they already knew what they should choose.

"Correction," Anya harrumphed. "We take Shepherd down and not go down with him… Don't forget, Price, we still need to kill Makarov too." She wanted Makarov dead so badly, no, she _needed_ him dead. Once he was out of the face of the world, there was no doubt that he would no longer be able to haunt her, to remind her of the dark days that she had spent by his side. Her place was with the 141, whether or not their faction was already gone. So long as the three of them drew breath, it existed.

MacTavish, however, saw things differently. "We've got one good UMP, and they've got a thousand," he proclaimed, stating the utterly obvious. "Even if the Intel was good…" At those words, Anya placed a hand on his shoulder, indirectly telling him that she knew what he was feeling. It was not indecision; it was the obscurity of the future that stayed his mind and his hand. It was the same thing that stayed her as well.

When they were spread so thinly, Price knew that he had to get MacTavish into the right mindset. "The healthy human mind doesn't wake up in the morning thinking this is its last day on Earth. But I think that's a luxury. Not a curse," he told the both of them. Within seconds, he found sapphire and ice-blue eyes trained upon him, and he continued, "To know you're close to the end is a kind of freedom. Good time to take... inventory. Outgunned. Outnumbered. Out of our minds. On a suicide mission. But the sand and rocks here, stained with thousands of years of warfare... They will remember us. For this. Because out of our vast array of nightmares, this is the one we choose for ourselves. We go forward like a breath exhaled from the Earth. With vigor in our hearts and one goal in sight: We. Will. Kill him." After saying those words, Price left the two of them to speak with Nikolai. They would have much to talk about anyways.

Anya, on the other hand, begged to differ. Ever since she had come back from Russia, her moments alone with MacTavish had been… strange. The air of camaraderie between the two of them had either disappeared, or, it had escalated into something else. Privately, she feared both outcomes, because she did not want to lose him at all. She did not know that if it was the same for him, but now… now when only the three of them remained, keeping him alive was her top priority, even before killing Makarov. She doubted that the latter outcome would be sweet at all without him to share it with.

"Anya," he barely breathed her call-sign. Very rarely did he call her by her real name, but it did not matter. She was not used to him doing that either. "If we don't make it out of Site Hotel Bravo alive… I want you to know that…"

"Don't say it," she told him, not even wanting to anticipate what he'd utter next. "We'll make it, I promise you." Her fingers were on his lips, and his expression softened. "MacTavish, we've worked so hard to get to this point… Once Shepherd is dead, Makarov is open to us. Please, I don't want to know that my past year beside that scumbag will be going to waste."

The Captain was silent. He drew Anya into his arms, and tucked her under his chin. He wanted to promise her what she had told him, but he knew that it was impossible. He did not want to get her hopes up, that they had a chance of survival. Moments passed, and when he looked down to lift her chin upwards, he found that she was crying again. A part of him sank when he saw her tears… he seemed to be the cause of them those days. With his thumb, he wiped off her tears and continued to hold her, content that their bond had changed from that of comrades to something more, something stronger, but he knew that it was something that was not love. It was more like… reliance. She knew that she was safe with him, and he knew that she would gladly risk anything for him and Price, but nothing more.

"Let's do this," he said to her, and was finally able to draw a smile from her. It was what Ghost would have said.

"Yes, lets."

* * *

Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Site Hotel Bravo, Kandahar, Afghanistan

* * *

It was nearing sunset when Nikolai had dropped them a small distance away from Site Hotel Bravo. They were so close that MacTavish swore that he could smell the carnage that they would cause, and by the furrow of Anya's brow, he knew that they were at the right place.

"I'll wait for you at the exfil point, three hours," Nikolai told them, his tone somber, knowing what would await them once they went in.

"Don't bother, this is a one-way flight, mate," Price said, deliberately ignoring Anya's glare. The girl wanted more than anything to survive this mission because she still hung onto their mandate of taking Makarov down no matter what, and she was right to have thought so, but he was more realistic. They would have to make sure that no one would sic the US military on them first, or any other US allies for that matter, in the event that Shepherd had successfully managed to convince the NATO armies that they were no longer agents loyal to their cause.

Nikolai could do nothing, but sigh. "Then good luck, my friends," he said, before trying to invoke God's grace on them.

"It's time," Anya announced, and they threw off their desert camos when the sandstorm blew over them, enabling them to move onto the ridge overlooking Site Hotel Bravo undetected. After walking a short distance, she looked at her heat sensors and nudged at Price. "Look at this, Captain," she told him, showing her the reading.

"Soap, we're getting a thermal spike up ahead," Price told MacTavish, who was a few steps behind them. "The cave must be somewhere up ahead." MacTavish acknowledged the information, and they continued further, until they reached a road that led through the mountains. "Hold up, enemy patrol," he proclaimed, stopping the other two from advancing further. "You did it, sweetheart," he told Anya. "The Intel is solid."

"It always was," Anya replied haughtily, and winked at MacTavish as they slowly crept towards the patrol, still hidden by the rock-face to the road's side. The patrol had only just been deployed, and was beginning to disperse towards various directions.

"Good, they're splitting out," Price said, "Let them separate… This decryption code better be worth the price we paid…"

They quickly changed frequencies with the aid of the decryption code that Makarov had given them shortly after they had left the Boneyard, and were able to hear every single conversation from the enemy's comms. Apparently, there were at least three teams on patrol, each of them handling German Shepherds.

"Look, over there," MacTavish said, indicating the group nearest to them, with four men and a dog. They split their targets, and before long, the group fell onto the ground, dead. Now that the first group was down, they had to kill the others before they came back. In an instant, two more men and another dog were killed.

"We don't have much time before they find the bodies, let's keep moving," Price announced, reaching the railing at the side of the cliff. "Here we go," he said, spotting the cave entrance. "Hook up here."

Slowly and steadily, the three of them rappelled down the cliff, taking notice of the three guards below them. They had to kill them in the most silent way possible, and not only that, they had to do it with the greatest precision. The only way was to use their knives, and as Anya took hers out, she discovered that they of the Shadow Company, they too possessed a similar sign-language to that of the Task Force 141. There was even a chance that Shadow Company's would be even more refined than their version.

As the seconds passed they neared their targets, one by one, they quietly jammed the blades of their knives into the side of the guards' necks, killing them instantly. "Let's hope that we're as lucky inside as we were here," Anya muttered, receiving a slight squeeze on her forearm from MacTavish as a response to her words.

They entered the cave and discovered another guard who was facing a monitor of some sort. Price forbade them to engage him, for obvious reasons. Thus, they stalked behind his line of sight, covered by the shadows of the cave. They could hear the Shadow Company trying to sort out the locations of the men that they had just killed moments before, meaning that there would be more men at the entrance of the cave. They would have to go deeper into the caves before that happened to remain undetected.

Group by group, they took out the groups that start to emerge, each of them displaying their already widely-recounted accuracies. It was like a cycle of course, all of them had been designated sharpshooters, and Price was MacTavish's mentor, while Anya, well, MacTavish had guided her every step of her way since she had entered the 141.

Soon, they reached a steam room, where the power had already been cut and there were voices on the other side of the door. The Shadow Company was going to breach the door, and they swept across the room, looking for places to hide. "They're here, go loud!" Price instructed once a hole was blasted through the door, and the Shadow Company men began filing through.

"They're here!" someone from Shadow Company announced. "Open fire! Stay frosty and hunt them down!"

It was too late. Half of their number had already been taken down. It was only a moment of time before the other half had joined the rest, sending panic upwards of the enemy faction. Surely, they had known that someone else other than themselves were there in the caves with them.

"Disciple Nine, your rear just flatlined!"

"It's not possible, we just cleared that area!" Disciple Nine replied. "Nobody's…"

The next voice they heard was Shepherd's. "It's Price!" he concluded. "Backup priority items and burn the rest. Fire-teams, just delay 'em until we're ready to pull out!"

"We have to get to those files before Shepherd manages to burn them!" Anya said as they emerged from the steam room and got onto some catwalks that would lead them to the caves above their current location.

"Acknowledged," Price returned. "Grab a riot shield, we'll need cover out here." To their right, they spotted the resistance in the form of two F-15s, two helicopters and a UAV, all aiming to blast them into the ravine below. By that time, Shadow Company had already spotted them, and they were instructed to exterminate them with extreme prejudice before they were able to reach an area known as the Crow's Nest that was located at the far side of the catwalk.

With MacTavish taking point in front, they were able to reach the Crow's Nest, and they were met with troops armed with riot shields. "Riot shields," Anya commented, mimicking MacTavish's words in Petropavlosk. "I hate riot shields…" MacTavish tried hard not to grin, even if no one would see it anyways.

The men with riot shields posed only a small threat to them, it was their number that caused a problem, after all. If only they had more of their own men by their side, then this mission would not be a one-way suicide mission that it was now. Nevertheless, they were able to slaughter the enemy troops and get into the control room after breaching the door, only to find out that it was rigged with explosives.

"All units, this is Gold Eagle," Shepherd announced. "The Site has been compromised. I am executing directive one-one-six bravo. If you're still inside, your service will be honored. Shepherd out." There was no doubt that the explosives would be detonated soon, and the only way out was to override the controls of the door before the explosives went off.

There were three consoles there, two for the door controls and one computer. Instinctively, Anya headed for the normal computer and found that the files that Shepherd's men had backed up were already compressed, which made copying them easier.

"Anya, get off that computer!" Price shouted towards her as they overrode the controls of the door. "It's no use now!" The only way to expose Shepherd's crimes was by getting Makarov to talk, because Shepherd's web of lies would be too deeply ingrained into the US armed forces by now. They needed to chase Shepherd down, and they needed to do it fast. "Run, keep moving, this place is gonna blow!"

They were able to exit the control room just in time before the explosive went off, causing that part of the cave to collapse, shaking the ground around them. "Excalibur, this is Gold Eagle. Fire mission – target package Romeo, danger close."

The clearing outside of the control room was soon covered by artillery fire, killing more Shadow Company soldiers imaginable. It was the utter exemplification of Shepherd's utter ignorance towards the welfare of his own men, even the men loyal only to him.

"To the west, go!" Price shouted, and they charged towards the other cave, quickly destroying any resistance that they had been met with. It was at this time when Shepherd had been notified that there was a sandstorm coming, and that they were unable to use aircraft to escape.

"Understood, head for the tunnel," Shepherd said, "We'll take the Zodiacs!"

"There's a river down here?" MacTavish asked, shooting a man in the head as they entered the tunnel.

They did not know the geographical qualities of the area, so they did not how a river would have existed there in the mountains, but nevertheless, they would be more than one Zodiac there, and they had to procure one for themselves in order to pursue Shepherd. "Let's go!" Price encouraged, and they headed into the tunnel.


	29. Endgame

Vladimir Makarov

The Inner Circle

Kandahar, Afghanistan

* * *

Site Hotel Bravo had fallen. He knew that he could count on the Task Force 141 to renege on their former superior once Shepherd's betrayal had been revealed to them. Combatants who had naught but their lives at stake were the most dangerous, particularly those fools who served under the insignia of the winged sword underneath a laureled skull. Yes, even she was one of them. Anya… her name was already a ghost on the tip of his tongue… So familiar at first, but the sweetness was already gone.

"There were reports that Shepherd's Pave Low was shot down downriver," Alexi reported to him as they prepared to move out to their other safehouse, deep in the mountains. "However, we don't know if there were any survivors of the crash. Hopefully, Shepherd's roasted with the lot of them."

Makarov would not leave anything to chance. "Make sure that there aren't any," he told Alexi sternly. No one must live, especially the Task Force 141, who now had evidence that he and Shepherd collaborated to create this new Russo-American conflict, because if Vorshevsky's detractors knew the truth, his attack on the United States would no longer have the support of the people of Russia.

"Sir, we have a visual on the crash," one of his agents reported, and Makarov immediately headed towards the console where the agent was working on and saw Anya lying down on the riverbank, clutching at her bleeding arm. There was no doubt that she had been shot right there, and MacTavish was doing all that he could to stop the bleeding for the time being.

However, Makarov did not place the order to have everyone at the site killed. "Let them finish each other off," he told his men. Anya was already wounded, and MacTavish looked worse for wear. He was almost certain that the two of them would surely bring Shepherd to his death, no matter what the cost was, and at their condition, it seemed that exchanging their lives for Shepherd's was almost a surety.

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen

Task Force 141

Kandahar, Afghanistan – Somewhere downriver

* * *

"We've got to get out of here before Makarov's men find us," Anya told MacTavish as they walked towards the crash site. They knew that Shepherd would not be far from where they were. "Now, we have evidence from _both_ him and Shepherd, this war will end and no one would trust them any longer."

"But who will trust _us_?" MacTavish asked her. When Shepherd had turned against them, all of the 141 were named as traitors, and even their own countries had spoken against them. They were as sought after as Makarov himself. "What we've got is nothing if no one wants to hear us out."

"They will hear us out," Anya replied. "The first man who will even try to listen to us will be Boris Vorshevsky. Makarov bought out all his generals, and they will be crushed when we give Vorshevsky what we have…"

Sighing, MacTavish put a hand on her shoulder. "Slowly, Anya, first, we've got to make sure that Shepherd's dead."

Anya nodded, and they both continued forwards. They first saw one of Shepherd's Shadow Company men, one of the survivors of the crash. He was bleeding heavily, and was crawling away from the site of the crash with his bare hands. Anya passed her knife to MacTavish, who quickly slashed his throat, giving him a clean death, which was the only thing that they could have given him. Soon, they encountered another, a man who was aiming at the both of them with a G18, only that his weapon was already empty. MacTavish stabbed him and Anya closed his eyes.

"Where the hell is he?" she asked, and soon enough, they heard the rattle of moving steel, and then, Shepherd revealed himself, pushing Anya out of the way, running towards the distance, causing her to land on her wounded arm. "Just go, I'll catch up to you!" she exclaimed, and MacTavish gave chase after Shepherd while she struggled to get up.

Hissing in pain, she summoned all her wits about her to stand up, and when she could, she made sure that she got to Shepherd and MacTavish as fast as she could. By then, MacTavish had already caught up to Shepherd, and both of them were catching their breaths around the car.

"You know what they say about revenge?" Shepherd asked MacTavish, who did not respond. There he stood, just staring at the fallen general, not knowing what to say. "You'd better be ready to dig two graves…" Even as Shepherd answered his own question, MacTavish still had not acted. Anya knew that there was an intense debate going through in the depths of her captain's soul, whether or not he should kill the general, the one that had led them from the time when Makarov was merely the Shadow of Zakhaev, to the world-renown terrorist he was now. Her sapphire eyes continued to watch MacTavish and Shepherd, as they silently moved towards each other, each, trying to guess the other's next move. "You're a good warrior," Shepherd continued. "But you could never take that extra step to do what is necessary… Anya, on the other hand, she gave _everything_ she had."

"Anya gave everything she had and you sold her out," MacTavish replied. "All of us did." He moved in for the kill, with his knife perfectly aimed. He would hit Shepherd in the neck…

"No!" he heard Anya shout, but he did not know why. But when his eyes turned back towards Shepherd, he realized that his stroke had been blocked, knocking the knife out of his reach. Using his own knife, one of similar make and design, Shepherd stabbed him right in the chest. Black temporarily overcame his vision, but when he could see again, Shepherd was emptying his Magnum, and reloaded it with three bullets: two for him and Anya, and the other, for Price, no doubt.

By that time, Anya had already limped close enough to be in MacTavish's field of vision, and definitely close enough for Shepherd to notice her. "Five years ago, I lost 30000 men and the world just fuckin' watched," Shepherd told the both of them. With her left hand, Anya also held a pistol, but Shepherd just laughed at her effort. "Sweetheart, I don't think that you can do much as you are now, so why don't you give up."

His first shot went to Anya, and although MacTavish could not see where she had been shot, he knew that she was on the ground the very next instant. Next, Shepherd went for MacTavish. Locking the hammer, and pointing the Magnum at the captain, he said, "Tomorrow, there will be no shortage of volunteers, no shortage of patriots… I hope that you would understand…"

Shepherd could have made the shot. He could have killed MacTavish then and there, but fate intervened. Price emerged out of nowhere, and knocked Shepherd off the ground. Without any usable weapons, the two of them turned to their own fists. Both injured, and aged beyond both Anya and MacTavish, it was a wonder that they could hold out against each other for that long. The other two, on the other hand, each made their way towards Shepherd's Magnum which was not far from them; him crawling, and her limping, despite her new wound… MacTavish had almost reached it when Shepherd kicked it away before turning his attentions back to Price.

"Anya… get the knife, now!" MacTavish told Anya.

"I'll kill you, you idiot!" she objected as she limped towards him. Deep down inside of her, she knew that there was no other choice. If they waited any longer, not even Price could overpower Shepherd…

"Just do it, woman!" MacTavish shouted, and Anya began to pull the knife out of his chest. So much blood came out when she tried to remove the weapon from his body, his grunts and hisses of pain did nothing but deafen her little by little, drowning out the sounds of the fight not far from them. Price was losing… she could not waste any more time.

With one last pull with all her strength, the knife was out, and she pressed the weapon into MacTavish's hands. She did not trust her aim at all. "Shepherd!" she called out to the traitorous bastard of a general, when Shepherd looked towards her and MacTavish, the captain sent the knife flying, and fly it did, right into Shepherd's left eye, killing him instantly.

The deed was done… he had killed Shepherd. "No, MacTavish, you can't sleep now!" Anya exclaimed shaking him awake. "Wake up!"

Soon, Price pushed Shepherd's dead body off himself and quickly came to MacTavish's aid. "You've done well, the two of you," he told Anya, and bound MacTavish's wound the best he could. "Anya, call you stand, lass?"

"I can manage," Anya coughed, and looked at MacTavish. At that moment, a Little Bird approached them, and they waited with bated breath, wondering who would emerge from the Bird. Luckily for them, it was Nikolai.

"I thought I told you that this was a one-way trip!" Price yelled at Nikolai, clearly relieved that he was there.

"It looks like it still is!" Nikolai replied, slinging MacTavish's arm around his shoulder while Price helped Anya up. "Now, both Makarov and Shepherd's men are after you…"

Anya sighed. "Nikolai, do you have a safehouse somewhere?" she asked their friend. He was still working with the Loyalists, and during her days with Makarov, she knew that they were still active, scattered around the world in various safehouses, but they were all known by Makarov, who had his men destroy them one by one, and she hoped that wherever Nikolai was bringing them was not still untouched by Makarov.

"We gotta get Soap outta here," Price pressed on, knowing that there was not much time left for MacTavish. "Anya's not that hot either…"

"Da, I know a place," Nikolai said as they moved ever closer to the Little Bird. "It's right in the mountains, about 624 miles east of here, in Dharmsala, India."

That answer was not one that Anya liked at all. "Makarov knows about that place," she warned Nikolai, who told her that they had no other choice, because if they even dared to make the journey to the further one, MacTavish would bleed to death before they even arrived at their destination.

"Anya, we've already stationed our best men there," Nikolai reassured her. "Don't worry, my boys won't let you down."

Anya could only hope that Nikolai was right. Upon reaching the Little Bird, they laid MacTavish down on Anya's lap, which was the only way, due to the limited seating space of the helicopter. "I'll take care of you, Captain," she told him with a forced smile, drawing his eyes towards her. "Don't you dare close your eyes on me, or I'll…"

MacTavish wheezed, and took her hand. "I'm just afraid that I can't look at that pretty face of yours forever," he muttered softly, squeezing her hand as he said those words, making her blush to no end. The boys in the 141 used to tease her like this, but she knew that it was all good clean fun, but when MacTavish said them… she could not even determine if he meant it, or he was just making a smart retort like she was doing.

"You'll be alright," she retorted, with a genuine smile this time, and placed her free hand on his hand as well.

* * *

Vladimir Makarov

The Inner Circle

Kandahar, Afghanistan

* * *

"If they survived, they would have to find a safehouse far enough from US forces to recover," Makarov said to his subordinates, all waiting for his next orders. Thanks to the Loyalist dog, Nikolai, who was once their prisoner, the Task Force 141 managed to escape him. There was a huge map of the Indian subcontinent before him, and on it, were markings of possible hiding places of their enemies: Loyalists, the NATO Armies… every one of them. "There," he said after several minutes of silent pondering. He pointed at a spot in India known as Dharmsala. It was not only the seat of the Tibetan government in exile, but was also a one of the largest and most important Loyalist safehouses in the region.

Alexi as always, picked up his train of thought quickly. "We have also discovered several months ago that they have a weapons cache there," his right-hand said. "Running this safehouse to the ground will not only tie loose ends, but will also bring more weapons back into our fold."

Makarov nodded. "Send your best men there at once," he instructed. "None must survive."

* * *

HAN: Hello there! It's been a long, long time since I've updated heh heh! Did anyone miss me? *Cricket chirps* I guess not. My explanation would be that real life caught up, and I was for a time diverted to the Assassin's Creed fandom, heh heh heh! ^.^ So I do hope that you enjoyed this chapter, which brings the Modern Warfare 2 part of the fic to the end! Here's to the beginning of the end of the series and this fic! YAY!


	30. Persona Non Grata

Capt. John Price

Task Force 141 – Disavowed

Loyalist Safehouse – Dharmsala, Himachal Pradesh, India.

* * *

"Get him inside!" Price shouted the moment MacTavish was on a stretcher, pushed by him and Anya while Nikolai made sure that there was constant pressure on MacTavish's wound. He noticed that MacTavish was already awake, and he had instinctively reached for Anya's hand, which she had given wordlessly. He did not say a word about it, a single gesture that spoke volumes about the two of them, but if that was what kept MacTavish going, he would not say a thing about it.

"He's not gonna last long if we don't get help soon!" Anya exclaimed, looking around for signs of friendlies and hostiles. She was bloody all over herself, but her wounds were not serious, most of them were bullet-grazes, save for the one in her shoulder, where she was shot by Shepherd. Her brow was furrowed with worry, and she constantly looked back towards MacTavish, trying ever so hard to smile for him. "Try to stay with us, Captain," she whispered to MacTavish, her words almost a prayer. Without any strength left to speak, MacTavish nodded and squeezed her hand. Price could see that what he did made Anya's blue eyes well up with tears for that split second there.

"The safehouse is up ahead," Nikolai told them after taking a left turn, and soon, they were surrounded by Russians, and by the way they immediately cleared the way and came to their assistance, it was evident that they were all Loyalists. Moments later, they were already inside, where Nikolai told his men to tend to Anya. The older, and more experienced doctor would need to focus on MacTavish.

"Do as he says, sweetheart," Price told her before she could protest. "You're no use to anyone half alive."Defeated even before she started the argument of her needing to stay near MacTavish, Anya sighed and went with Nikolai's men to another room in the medical wing. MacTavish, on the other hand, was pushed into another room, there the doctor was already waiting for them. "He needs help, now!" Price bellowed at the aged man, who quickly moved to do what he could.

"We're losing him!" Nikolai exclaimed, looking at the heart monitor as he reached for the defibrillator. "Charging… three, two, one… Clear!"

* * *

Anya screamed when the Loyalist medics took the bullet out of her shoulder, because all the anesthetics were being used on MacTavish. However, when it was out, she made it look as if nothing had happened. "You are a tough one," said one of them, a Russian, by his accent. She looked at him and found that he was a tall man with a shaved head and clear eyes, perhaps in his mid-thirties. "You must be Anya Allen."

"So, the whole world knows about me right now," she replied, rolling her eyes. Her face, as her late compatriots in the Task Force 141 had told her, was all over the newspapers. Apparently, she was only known as "Anya Allen", for the lack of Russian Intel on her existence. Anya did not know if it was a good thing or not at that point of time. "For the record, my real name is Maria," she told him. "Anya is my call-sign."

"I'm Yuri," he said, holding out his hand for a handshake. "I've been holding out here ever since I got out of the Spetsnaz."

Anya chuckled. "Well, let's hope that you're not rusty, because we'll have Makarov's men on our tail soon enough." There was no need to hide the truth from Yuri, it seemed, because the entire safehouse was on high alert, so much so that the medic gave her powerful painkillers so that she could be on the fight for as long as possible. She hoped that Makarov would not send his forces out so soon, knowing that MacTavish was in a terrible condition, but since it was Makarov, she scrapped out all shreds of hope and rearmed herself the very instant the painkillers kicked in. "I have to check on my captains," she told Yuri fifteen minutes later, when the medic said that she could leave the room. "It was nice knowing you, Yuri."

"I'll come with you," he offered. "You'll need someone to show you the way."

Seeing that she had no other alternative, she followed him. They went up a flight of stairs, and took a right turn down the hallway. "They're in there," Yuri told her, remaining at the door. Anya thanked him and went in.

"Good to see you again, Anya," Price said as the doctor flitted around MacTavish with Nikolai's assistance. It seemed that the room not only served as a medical unit, but as a control room as well. Half the room was filled with medical apparatus, and the other half, consoles of surveillance equipment, weapons, and about fifty men managing the goings on in the safehouse. It seemed to be a viable operation, but as successful as this place looked, they could not last an Inner Circle assault, not by the magnitude Makarov will probably send to them.

"How is MacTavish?" Anya asked Price, looking at the ugly wound on MacTavish's chest. It was being sewn up by the doctor, slowly and surely, but still, he had lost a lot of blood. If they had time, he could have gotten a blood transfusion, but now, they had none, and the only way to make sure that he was kept alive was to ensure that his heart did not stop pumping.

Price sighed. "At least you're in better shape than he is," he told her. "We'll need every one we can get, so I'll not have you dying on us at any time." It was Price's way of telling her that as the only other surviving member of the 141, he would not let her die on his watch. However, Anya was not only that to those who were on the playing field as well: as the only person alive that had some kind of inkling of Makarov's plans working against the Inner Circle, and one of the few who lived with evidence of Shepherd's betrayal, she was a valued asset to all those who fought against Makarov, and to those who would expose the world to America's atrocities. Too bad that her value was also the reason why everyone wanted her dead as well.

"I won't if he doesn't," she replied dryly, cocking her chin towards MacTavish, who did not look so hot at all. Every second lost was a second closer to danger for him. The doctor seemed to be fretting, and Anya held in a deep breath, hoping that things would turn out for the better.

"Price, Anya, we've got vital signs but they're weak," Nikolai told them, causing Anya to walk towards MacTavish whilst glaring at his heart rate monitor, as if that would help him at all. "He won't last without proper attention!"

"He's a hard bastard," Price told Nikolai. "Trust me, he'll make it." It was true, that MacTavish had survived fates that could have killed normal men, but it was almost too easy to believe that this one would be the death of him. Price had faith in him, but Anya, Anya refused to believe that it would kill him, which was different. Hers was denial, Price knew it. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she continued to watch the doctor trying his best to save MacTavish. It was still too early to despair.

At the other side of the room, several of the consoles started to beep angrily. "We're picking up inbound signatures," one Loyalist reported.

"We've got company," Nikolai commented, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

"It's Makarov," Price replied, sounding as though he was spitting out some sort of poison from his throat. "He's tying up loose ends. Anya and I can't do this on our own… who's your best man?"

Nikolai gave Price's question a thought, and answered, "Yuri," and was told by Anya that he was the one who led her to the room. "Ex-Spetsnaz. Only man I know who hates Makarov more than the two of you."

Before Anya was about to ask the reason for Yuri's grudge with Makarov, Price told Nikolai to get Yuri. "They'll use the ridgeline for cover and fly in from the south," he said, looking at the map of the surrounding areas on the wall.

"How do you know?" Nikolai asked Price, scratching his head.

"It's what I'd do," Price replied, and gestured for Anya to get ready for another fight.

"Let them come," Anya said. "Makarov needs to learn that not everyone will go down without a good fight." Now, her main concern was MacTavish and his survival.

Three attack helicopters and five Mi-17s were closing in on them, from the very direction that Price had indicated. Anya's sapphire eyes looked towards the balcony, and what she saw did not lift her hopes any higher. Commandoes beyond count were rappelling from the helicopters, and MacTavish was nowhere near improvement…

"Yuri!" Nikolai summoned Yuri, who was still waiting at the door. "Yuri, over here!" The man came as quickly as he was called, and he exchanged knowing glances with Anya the moment he faced Nikolai and found her next to Price.

Yuri looked at MacTavish, and found the doctor still trying to patch out his wound. "He was stabbed in the chest and he pulled the knife out to kill our target," Anya explained, watching as MacTavish wheeze and cough as a result of his injuries.

"Long story short, we need to get Soap into the chopper!" Price said, cutting the pleasantries between Anya and Yuri, and was interrupted by the sound of a helicopter crashing through the wall, knocking almost everyone down upon impact. Anya's first instinct was to grab her gun and check on MacTavish.

"Anya…" he groaned, grabbing her arm. "Get out… now!" He coughed out blood, and Anya slowly pushed him down back onto the stretcher.

"Hold your horses Captain, we're not going anywhere without you," she told him, and nodded at the doctor. Price was already barking orders. She and Yuri were to take out the men in the courtyard in order to by the doctor more time to work on MacTavish.

Quickly assuming her position, she aimed for the men tried to break through the gate that led into the courtyard. "We need to hold them off until we can move Soap!" Price instructed them, orders that were obeyed flawlessly. Anya never missed a mark, which took most of the combatants around her by surprise. They did not expect that level skill from her, but then again, it was the first time that they have met her and seen her in combat. She gave them no notice at all.

"Hind approaching!" one of the Loyalists cried out, and soon, said Hind came in sight, and began to fill the room with machine gun fire. Anya looked as if she was going to shield MacTavish with her own person, but was restrained by Yuri, who pushed her onto the wall. No one was killed when the Hind left the window, save for the doctor.

"The doctor's down!" Nikolai despaired. "Give him the shot, Yuri!"

Without hesitation, Yuri got to the table with the syringe filled with adrenaline, which would keep MacTavish's heart keep pumping, and administered the shot. Anya winced as MacTavish screamed in pain, but otherwise readied herself for another bout of fighting. One of Makarov's men had already broken in through the main door of the room, but was in the range of Price's pistol. He was shot in the head by Price, while Anya threw a knife that she'd found on the table next to her right into another man's heart. "They're on top of us!" she exclaimed, hearing footsteps on the roof above them.

"We've got to get Soap into the chopper!" Price told them, and Nikolai went to get MacTavish, slinging his arm over his shoulder. "Anya, come help me!"

Anya nodded, and did the same to MacTavish's free hand. Yuri would have to follow Price's lead to cover them. "Good luck, boys," she wished them as the two of them jumped into the courtyard. They would have to clear the courtyard before they were able to move at all. Her sapphire eyes could see only scores of Inner Circle men moving in towards them, but and the Loyalists were having a hard time pushing them back.

MacTavish was still losing huge amounts of blood, and Anya placed her hand on his wound, to stop the blood from flowing as much as she could. Soon, Price's voice was heard through the comms once they caught sight of an enemy drone. "Russian drone overhead, we're outgunned and outnu mbered! We need more firepower!" Price said, speaking for all the surrounding Loyalists.

"There is a weapons cache at the edge of town," Nikolai told Price. "We have a UGV there!" The UGV will be their proverbial shield that they could use to approach the helicopter that was waiting for them, giving the added edge they so sorely needed. Without a moment to waste, Price and Yuri set out to locate the weapon's cache, which was not far from their current location, if not for the Inner Circle men coming in waves and waves to attack them.

"I'll take our six," Anya volunteered, knowing that it was impossible to advance further without protecting their rear positions. There were just too many of them... However, she knew that this attack could not be orchestrated by Makarov. It was too random, too wild and too disorganized... There was only one person in Makarov's ranks that would actually risk such a blatant use of firepower and men... It was not the finest strategy, but it was one that worked, for every step the Loyalists took forwards, the Inner Circle would push them a two steps backwards by way of sheer force only. "If we keep staying here, we'll be sitting ducks!"

As Anya spoke, the Russian drone started to pass around them yet again, firing its missles at any available targets. Without any way to contort MacTavish's body without hurting him further, Nikolai led him into one of the houses that was out of the drone's firing zones, while Anya ducked into any available cover that she could find. "Is the Captain alright?" Ashe asked Nikolai, who nodded hastily in answer. Sighing in relief, Anya reloaded the AK-47 in her hands and trudged forwards.

"There's the chopper!" Price shouted once they turned left into an alley that lead to a clearing where their aircraft were waiting for them. However, there were more of the Inner Circle waiting for them as they jumped over an old, rusty gate. "There's too many of them between us and the chopper, Nikolai, we need that UGV now!"

"You're almost there!" Nikolai replied and pointed to the building on his right. "Go through that building!" Once both Price and Yuri were inside the building that he had indicated, he told them that the UGV was directly beneath them, accessible via a floor door that led to the basement. Once they were in the basement, Price took a crowbar and opened the crate, revealing the UGV that would add to their chances of survival.

Once Yuri had manned the controls of the UGV, Price continued to bark his instructions to Yuri as they advanced forwards from behind the UGV. As each moment passed, MacTavish's condition worsened, and soon, even Anya started to take bolder courses of action, drawing enemy fire to herself, rather than them. "Take out those choppers!" Price shouted when the UGV moved onto a roof. In no time, a Hind and two Mi-17s were destroyed using the grenade launcher, giving Price, Nikolai and Anya the time they need to load MacTavish onto the helicopter.

"He's not looking so good..." Nikolai fretted, which caused Price to increase the urgency of his orders, although things were going smoother than anticipated.

"We're running out of ammo here!" Anya notified, sharing one last magazine with Price, who then noticed that the drone was now targeting the UGV. "Yuri, look out!"

It was too late, for the drone had already blasted the UGV into bits before Yuri could have done anything to salvage it. The only way was for Yuri to run to the choppers, and he had to do it with all due speed.

"Yuri, move to the chopper, go, go!" Price urged, and Yuri did as he was instructed to, sprinting to the rooftops where the UGV was destroyed. But as he ran, he suddenly felt a strange sinking feeling right in his gut. He was not wounded, nor was he over hit in his head, so why was he feeling as though every step he took forwards seemed to be a step taken left?

It took his mind three seconds to gather that the drone had fired its missles at the buildings beneath him, causing everything to buckle and collapse. The worse thing was that he was currently on a hillside, and was sent downwards in an avalanche of debris and concrete. Sliding left and right to avoid any collisions with the debris and the trees in front of him, Yuri soon fell into a river, its cold waters crashing upon him, threatening to drown him if he did not make it to the surface in time. His hands flailed about upwards, and miraculously, he found a tree-root to hold onto as his vision began to white out from all the exhaustion he had been through.

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen

Task Force 141 - Disavowed.

Dharmsala, Himachal Pradesh, India.

"I see him!" Anya exclaimed as Nikolai's Little Bird circled around the river where they last saw Yuri. MacTavish's head was leaning on her shoulder, and she pointed outwards, indicating the tree-root which Yuri was clinging onto for dear life.

"There's Yuri!" Nikolai chorused as well, and flew towards Yuri's direction.

MacTavish coughed as he woke up. "Who the bloody hell's Yuri?" he asked, not knowing about anything that had happened so far.

Anya chuckled. "You'll soon know soon enough, Captain," she told him with a smile. Beneath them, Yuri had already found the strength to stand on the root and wave at them. "He saved your life today."


	31. The Unveiling

Cpt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141 – Disavowed

Medicins Sans Frontieres Branch, Qinghai Province, China.

* * *

It was pain that had put him to sleep, and it was pain that woke him up again. He did not know where he was, or where the others were, but when he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a white ceiling, and the strong smell of chloroform. He was in a hospital, no doubt, but where… which one?

He struggled to get up, but found no strength. He grunted and hissed in pain, and soon, the door opened, and Anya came rushing in. "You're awake!" she exclaimed, and quickly went out again, calling for the doctor. There was no intercom in the room, only a ceiling fan. He could see the sun shining out the window, but what he saw outside was not a bustling city, or a dilapidated town, but a mix of the two in the mountains. He looked at the words posters on the wall, and discovered that he was somewhere in China… How the hell were Nikolai and the others able to bring him there?

Not five minutes later, several doctors started to enter the room: A few Caucasians, one Indian and one Chinese by the looks of them, fussing over him one way or another. He was silent, hearing what they said between them, and gathered that he had been out cold for a week, and that his recovery was nothing short of miraculous. When they exited, Price, Nikolai and Anya came in, each with relief written on their faces.

"We thought that you were a goner, Soap," Price told him, while Anya just said on the side of his bed and smiled. He looked up at her, and discovered that she had gotten thinner, her deep blue eyes now puffy underneath them. She had not been sleeping and eating well at all… "Anya here won't leave this room unless Nikolai threatened to carry her out. You've got her worried sick, son."

MacTavish knew that Price was worried for him too. His mentor was never… open about his own feelings to anyone, but by the way Anya was beaming at him, he knew that what Price said was true. "I'm sorry," he told all three of them, "I should have been more careful…"

"You should have been less reckless, you asshole," she chided, her brow knitted with displeasure, which quickly replaced the upwards curve of her lips with a frown.

"Don't be so hard on Soap, Anya," Nikolai interrupted. "You haven't smiled at all since we came here. You've gained more lines on your face in two weeks than in three years!"

They chorused with laughter, and while Nikolai and Price traded stories about how they had to force Anya to eat or sleep in those two weeks; MacTavish quietly took Anya's hand in his. It was the last thing that he remembered holding since he had gone out cold. He saw her cheeks quickly reddening from his gesture, but when she felt Price's eyes on them, she slipped her hand away.

"I'll leave you boys to talk," she offered, but Price told her to stay seated.

"We'll leave," he told her. "The two of you have much to talk about."

Nikolai snickered loudly, and MacTavish swatted him as hard as his injuries would allow him. "Enjoy what little time you have alone, you love birds you!" he teased them both, and when he saw Anya's face becoming redder and redder, he could not resist laughing more. No one had ever seen that side of Anya before. Not since that day they left Kandahar, stopping in Dharmsala, and right till they reached Qinghai… They were all sure that Makarov would certainly not have seen that part of her as well.

"Don't mind Nikolai," MacTavish told her, boldly moving his hand to her cheek. "He just likes to have some fun."

Anya chuckled, and placed her hand on his. "I know," she replied. Those were her last words before a great silence came between them. She looked into his eyes and sighed, grasping his wrist. "Your heart stopped beating when we reached here," she reminded him, although she knew that he had no memory about anything after waking up for those few seconds to ask who Yuri was. He saw the man briefly, nodded to him and passed out. That much, he remembered. "I thought that you'd leave us."

"I won't," he told her, his hand moving to the back of her neck, slowly pulling her closer to him. "I promised the boys that we'll continue our mission no matter what. I will see that promise fulfilled." With his thumb, he wiped off her tears, and added, "I promised them, that one day, I'll make you smile, not the one that you hide from us with…"

At those words, Anya took his hand away from her face and sat further away from him. "Captain… Please," she pleaded. She remembered her first days in the 141. In those days, she worked hard to prove herself to all the men around her, and gave everything that she had, but to no avail. They were all too preoccupied with their notions that a woman could not serve in active duty, but mission after mission, they started to realize her caliber. Then, during one mission in the heart of Siberia, Anya had saved MacTavish and Ghost by shooting down two Ultranationalist snipers that had been hidden in the evening shadows, visible only from her angle. It was after that mission when Anya was no longer called "Allen" or the "FNG", but was given the call-sign "Anya", because she could speak in fluent Russian and had a touch of Slavic blood in her veins from her maternal grandmother. It was those days that followed that brought her purpose and laughter. It was those days that followed that she and MacTavish started to exchange certain glances, when they thought no one was looking. It all ended when she took on the mission to spy on Makarov for the 141.

MacTavish knew that Anya still needed time. She had spent a year in Makarov's company, a year lived in fear and anger. He knew that Makarov would have her serve his basest desires, because she was accessible, and not hard to look at. The very thought of him touching her churned his stomach, but he knew that it must have pained her more, although she did not show it, or tried hard to hide it. "Maria," he called her by her real name, causing her to look into his ice-blue eyes so quickly that he thought that her head would snap. It was her name, but how could someone she knew so well uttering it sound so foreign to her ears? She looked at him, and he opened his mouth again. His lips, at first, sought to ask her why, but in the end, the sound that came out was, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," she lied, not even attempting to pull a straight face. When he pressed further, she apologized to him. "If it weren't for me, we'd still have the boys with us… You wouldn't even be here…"

Her voiced faltered, and MacTavish cupped her face in his hands, wincing when he reached too high for her. "It's not your fault, Maria," he told her, his voice strong and firm. He could not believe it that she still blamed herself, but then again, remembering how he had taken the ending of the Second Russian Civil War… he knew what she was feeling. "Believe me, lass,"

They were so close to one another at that moment when she stared at him, sapphire eyes blinking. She knew the meaning of his words, but her heart told her other things. His touch was warm, and she welcomed it, but it was all that she dared to welcome. "MacTavish…" she murmured his name, and turned away from him. "I can't go back to how things were. I really can't… Whenever I close my eyes, I see the men and women I killed at the airport. I see blood on the floor and on my hands…" In the depths of her mind, she could also recall another man's touch, but she knew that no one must know of them.

Of all the members of the 141, only Anya acted as an active spy. They have tortured many men, and many of them were tortured in return, but no one had ever gone through anything like what she had done. The lives of the innocent weighed far heavier than the lives of their enemies that they had taken on their souls. Still, MacTavish refused to back down. He would have her see reason that she was faultless and deeper still, that there was a possibility that… they have a chance. "I'll wait for you," he told her, offering nothing more but the soft touch of his fingers on her cheek. "Until you can put everything that will bring you down behind you… "

"Captain…" she called once more, tears filling her eyes again. "I'm not worth it. I'm no longer the Anya you knew…"

"No, you're not," he interrupted her, touching their foreheads together. "But deep down inside, she's still there, waiting to come back. I'll be there when she does, I promise you."

She knew that there was nothing she could do to stop him, once MacTavish seeks something, he would not stop until he finds it. She knew him well enough to know that. "Thank you," she whispered, outwardly touched and defeated by his words. If she was any other woman, she would have given him much more than that. He did not deserve her at all.

MacTavish smiled as well, and hugged her as tightly as he could. Soon, they heard a soft knock on the door, and as she removed herself from his arms, he planted a small kiss to her lips. "I'll see you tomorrow," he told her, it was not a general statement, but a promise, she nodded, and left.

Once out the door, a nurse came in to check on him, and to make sure that Anya did not return. He needed his rest.

* * *

"You should not have encouraged him," Yuri told Anya when she appeared outside the door of the common room of the MSF branch, where they were given places to sleep at night. Both Nikolai and Price were already sound asleep, but Yuri was still awake, smoking on a cigarette alone.

Anya raised an eyebrow. "Encourage him?" she asked, not understanding what he said, but knowing what he had done. "How long have you been watching us?"

"A few minutes," he answered. "The walls are thin here, and you know it."

Yes, the walls were thin. Anya barely forgot how easily they could hear the doctors and nurses rushing to wrestle him from being claimed by death although he was three rooms away. Some of them, had even lost hope that he could be saved. Still, Yuri had no right to say what he had said for many reasons that she could name. Chief among them, was that he barely knew them. "What makes you say that?" she asked him further, eyeing him suspiciously.

"You are always lying when you smile skews to the right."

At those words, Anya's eyes widened. Her hands quickly found his neck and she glared at him as she tightened her grip. "How did you know this?" she asked him. No one, not even the boys in the 141 knew this habit of hers; they did not know the meaning of her gesture. Only her parents, and not even… Her grip tightened even more when she realized from whence he came from. "You're one of _his_ men!"

Yuri held both his hands up high, a gesture of surrender. "Was," he told her, slightly thankful that they weren't loud enough to stir Nikolai or Price. "He betrayed me by trying to kill me."

If anything, Makarov was a man who did not tolerate betrayal at all, because he valued loyalty above all else. Those who served him loyally were given opportunities of command and power, and thus, winning the hearts of many men like Alexei, chief among them. But then, the answer struck Anya like lightning. The commonness of his name made her blind to his identity, and soon realized who he truly was. She had never met him before, because she didn't have the chance to meet him. He was tasked to follow her, to spy on her for Makarov… "You were supposed to join us," she said, knowing that he would catch her meaning quickly. "But you never came, and we had to start without you…"

"I told the Government about the attack," he replied, gaining her train of thought as expected. "I could not let my friend sink further into madness."

Anya harrumphed. "Where were you when he terrorized Europe and blasted the Middle East into smithereens?" she asked him coldly.

He did not answer, and she did not press further. Everyone had their own choices made, she would not question them, but she knew that what she had just learned would have terrible effects on him. If Nikolai knew that Yuri hated Makarov more than herself, Price and MacTavish, Yuri must have told him quite a story. He was lucky that the Captains both trusted Nikolai with their lives.

"You can't tell the others about what I know," she surmised, before taking a deep breath and exhaling. "Did he know?" she asked again, curiosity taking the upper hand.

Yuri nodded. "He knew that you were a spy, but he couldn't be sure until you revealed yourself. Thankfully, you didn't, and so he put you into his plans."

"Shepherd did," she finished his sentence. "I always knew that he was onto me. He never let me out of his sight…" She should have known that Makarov had his men trailing her, day and night. But there was no wonder that the 141 could not progress one step above Makarov's plans… They were always behind him, no matter how hard their efforts.

Yuri could do nothing else but nod. "He's a very suspicious man," he concluded, but Anya pleaded him to speak no further on Makarov. "I'd understand that you want to put those days behind you…"

"I'll do it on my own," she told Yuri. "Once Makarov's touched your life you can't take him out of your head. The only thing that we can do now is to see him dead. Remember, not a word to Price or MacTavish. They'll kill the both of us if they know."


	32. The Answer

"_What are you thinking about?" she asked him one night, finding his eyes still open, looking at the ceiling. They never talked about their work when they were alone together, taking only the company of one another, leaving rest to be done only in the time of rest. Dawn was coming soon, but they had only just crept into bed, both apparently drained enough to forego intimate contact… _

_He turned towards her and caressed her cheek with the pads of his fingers. "You, my dear," he answered. She could not see it clearly, but from his tone of voice, she knew that he was smirking, an expression that few people have seen. "A beauty like you must have triumphed over the hearts of many men…"_

_She chuckled, showing her agreement. "Well, there are a few," she replied, feeling his arm wind around her waist, causing her to pause a moment as she felt the increase of closeness between them. Those of her youth she had forgotten for the most part, but the more recent ones, they all left a lasting impression on her. "I met one of them while I was working with Batkin, a tall, dark and handsome Captain."_

_At her description of said individual, she felt him tense a little, but then she kissed his chin and he relaxed ever so slightly. "What was he like?" he asked her, clearly wanting to know the competition that he faced, concocted or no. _

"_He was one of the best I ever had, with the bluest eyes," she answered, her heart racing a little when she realized who she was describing. "Nothing went between us until the time we went on a tour in Siberia… From then on, something just… exploded, and my heart beat ten times faster whenever I saw him." As she spoke those words, she was once again reminded of the stalwart Captain that was waiting for her to return to the 141, after she had found a way to end the reign of terror that the man beside her had created. "A touch, a glance… when you know that you can die the next moment, suddenly everything matters."_

"_You must have loved him," he suggested, placing a kiss on her forehead. However, she shook her head, causing him to furrow his brow. "What is it then?"_

"_It was something else," she answered, her voice trailing as she seemed to look into the distance, as if she could see the man's face right before her. "Somehow, we managed to come up with a deal… that we'd be there for one another, no matter what it takes…" She felt his told over her tighten, and she turned around to face him. "Now… I don't even know if he's dead or alive…"_

_He did not allow her to finish her sentence. Instead, he placed his lips over hers and claimed her with a searing kiss which held a meaning that she understood more than ever. He was proclaiming that she was his, and only his. As his tongue gently grazed her lower lip, she opened her mouth ever so slightly, allowing him entrance, submitting to him. "It is time for you to move on, my dear," he whispered into her ear once their lips parted for precious breath. "Do not tie yourself to the past."_

_She chuckled, and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. "You were the one who started it," she reminded him, noting that he had done nothing at all to conceal the pang of jealousy that was so evident from his voice. "Don't worry," she reassured him, leaning her head on his chest. "You are my future now."_

"_Liar," Makarov harrumphed, winding an arm around her shoulders as he started to close his eyes. Within seconds, sleep already took him, leaving her to guess the meaning of his words._

* * *

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen

Task Force 141 – Disavowed.

Medicins San Frontieres Branch, Qinghai Province, China.

* * *

Anya woke up from her nap on the couch confused. She remembered that night clearly, when Makarov had asked her about the men in her life. It started as a question out of curiosity, but she knew that she ended up revealing more than she needed to. At that time, her thoughts had been darted to MacTavish and the boys back in the 141… She did not even know how Makarov could read her mind.

Heck, she was not sure why she had indirectly told Makarov of her relationship with MacTavish, but she knew that it was the most foolish thing that she had ever done in the list of the utterly foolish things she had committed while by his side. Nothing had happened between her and MacTavish throughout her time in the 141 but for the odd pecks here and there when they were alone together, but after what happened last night, she did not know how to deal with him at all.

Before she was inserted into Moscow, she would have tried to admit to herself that she did have feelings for him, but now, she told herself that even if she did, she did not deserve him. It was not the sense of guilt that everyone would have thought it was, it was the fact that ever since she had been by Makarov's side, she was never able to let him out of her mind. His train of thought, the meaning of his words… those were the details that she filled her head with, but in the later days, what plagued her the most soon became his touch, the furrow of his brow when he tried to read her, his lips gently caressing all over her body… She could not be free of him, and she knew that she could not give her heart to MacTavish unless she could remove Makarov's presence, physically, and in her mind. MacTavish deserved nothing less than that.

"You seem to have a lot on your mind, Anya," Price told her as he took the seat next to her. MacTavish had already fallen asleep, too tired from the exertion of the physiotherapy session he had to undergo. "I thought that you'd lighten up after Soap woke up," he added, causing her to sigh.

"I don't know what came over me," she uttered while burying her head in her hands.

Price put a hand on her shoulder, definitely knowing the meaning of her words, and said, "The two of you should talk it out, and none of you both deserve to be left hanging with anything."

"I don't know what to say to him about it," she countered, looking at Price. There were so many things that she wanted to tell him, but she knew that she could not. "I…"

"Give it time," Price offered, squeezing her shoulder gently. "But don't take too long. Our time here might be cut short at any moment."

She did not say anything following Price's words, because she knew that what he said was the truth, even before what was now known as the Russo-American War had started. By then, American forces were already able to chase the Russians from the eastern seaboard, but the cost of such a success was great, civilian lives bearing the brunt of it. Makarov had gone underground since the Russian defeat, but no one among the 141 and the Loyalists ever believed that he was already down and out. As soon as MacTavish was well enough to wield a gun, they would be back on the grid. Until then, she would have to come to terms about her divided heart. She would give him what he needed from her, until the time came for her to face her own demons. It was a compromise that she knew that could compel the both of them to fight until they could see the end of the war.

Three nights later, she walked into MacTavish's ward and sat at the stool next to his bed. He was asleep, but she stayed there anyway. Holding his hand in hers, she kissed it gently at the knuckles, and watched him wake up slowly. "Anya," he greeted her sleepily, clearly surprised by her sudden change of approach.

"I have an answer for you," she told him, placing his hand on the side of her face, taking a deep breath as she contemplated her next words. For a long while she just stayed there, looking into his eyes, smiling to herself. "I want you to know that the feelings between us… it's mutual. I'd die for you, even if you weren't my Captain."

Those words gladdened him greatly, so much so that he drew her into his arms and kissed her temple. However, he knew that from her expression that there was a "but" that she had not told him. There was always a "but" with Anya. "But…?" he helped her spit out the very word she was trying to say, causing her to chuckle, slightly embarrassed.

"But… I need time…" she told him, knowing that if she was to have any future with MacTavish, or any inkling of a coming future with him, she had to purge herself of any memory of what was still haunting her. She had tried to this past week, and she knew that she would fail all the same. It was ironic, that before she had almost risked her life for the man she was trying so hard to forget now… "It would be selfish of me to…"

"I don't care about that, Anya," MacTavish replied, cutting her off, burying his head into her shoulders. "I just want you to know that I'll be here for you. I just want you to be happy… You don't need to fight off that monster alone." They were all damaged by what they had seen, what they had suffered silently, because of the duties that they had taken. He knew that he could not promise Anya anything but himself, and it was all that he had offered.

She sighed, and nodded. "Thank you," she murmured, returning his embrace. Who was she to refuse him? Who was she to deny herself to him, if he had such selfless caring for her? Slowly, she helped him lean back onto the bed, and kissed him lightly. "Captain…"

MacTavish pulled a finger to her lips, hushing her. "John," he corrected. Now that the 141 was practically defunct with the exception of him, Price and Anya, rank no longer held any meaning. He realized suddenly that she never addressed him by his first name before. It was always his last name, or "Captain".

"John," she repeated after him with a smile, a genuine one, because he could see her eyes slightly diminishing in size. "You've got to get some sleep. Price will blow my head off if he knew that I kept you awake." However, MacTavish would not let her go. He took her by the wrist and pleaded her to stay with him for the night. "You need your rest, John," she added, allowing him a kiss between her words before gently prying herself away from him.

Once she was out the door, she saw Price right outside. There was no doubt that he had heard everything. Yuri was right… The walls there were too thin. "I'm happy for you both," he told her. "It's about time that the two of you got together, considering whatever Nikolai told me these few days."

"It's the best that I could think of," she admitted, having found no other alternative but to give in, to allow herself to float to wherever her destiny would bring her. "Probably the best for us both…"

"The boys would be happy to see you two together too," Nikolai quipped, bravely facing her eventual wrath for revealing too much information about her to Price.

"I'll never hear the end of it, won't I?" she asked the two of them, and they shook their heads as an answer. She left them at the hallway and crawled into her sleeping bag, muttering something that sounded like a rant on men and their childishness, but she knew that they cared for them, Price and Nikolai. She also knew that Nikolai was right, that if the boys were still alive, they would have celebrated at the knowledge that she and MacTavish were now together. She even remembered that they had started to take bets as to when their relationship would start.

It was the memory of the boys that made it a bittersweet moment for her, but she knew that it was their memory that brought this new chapter into her life, and she knew that it was this moment that would further force her will to see the end of this war, because she had a reason to live beyond the need to right the wrongs that she had done, because she knew that MacTavish would be bringing her to the end of the line.


	33. Turbulence

President Boris Vorshevsky

Russian Federation

En route to Hamburg, 32000 ft. above sea-level.

* * *

"So, this is the girl that Makarov stole back from the airport…" Vorshevsky said as he looked at the picture of the woman that Pudovkin had received from a turncoat informant. He has seen the footage of the massacre countless times before, and he knew that she was no ordinary woman, or, any ordinary soldier, for that matter. Just from the manner that she had carried herself in the video, like a wizened soldier, she had already seen her fair share of war.

Pudovkin nodded. "Apparently, she is an American soldier, recruited into the Task Force 141. They have gone underground, but the Captains, John Price and John MacTavish are wanted men for killing General Shepherd in Kandahar."

That was an interesting term of events. The Task Force 141 had always been in the radar of the Russian Federation ever since it withdrew from NATO when the Ultranationalists came into power. Vorshevsky knew of their talents and their constant search for Makarov, and was astounded to know that it was a woman that brought the 141 so close to the man that was once known as the Shadow of Zakhaev. He had known of Makarov, but he had never met him. Vorshevsky had come from a different breed of Ultranationalists, one that emerged only after Zakhaev had political leanings. Makarov, had been one of Imran Zakhaev's earliest and brightest pupils, but Vorshevsky quickly ousted him, knowing that there will be no place in the hearts of the Russian people if Makarov had not been subdued. It was his mistake not to have taken firmer measures against the man, and now he was ruing the effects of his mercy.

"This Maria Allen must still be with her Captains," Vorshevsky concluded. The dossier on her that Pudovkin had retrieved was interesting indeed. Before her assignment to spy on Makarov, her record was clean. What would have caused her to take up such a dangerous mission? "We must find her at all costs, Leonid. Only she knows what Makarov has planned next. There is no doubt that he would be after her as well."

"Mr. President, do you believe that she really is the key to the end of the war?" Pudovkin asked Vorshevsky with a raised eyebrow. Even if the woman really was capable, she could not possibly had access to all of Makarov's movements. Yuri, the man who had given him this information, specifically said that Makarov did not trust her, and had eyes set on her at all times. How could she ever be privy to any of Makarov's secrets?

Vorshevsky, on the other hand, had already anticipated this question from Pudovkin, in fact, anyone who would know of this issue. "Our enemy was known as a wild card back in the day," he explained, "he has many plans, planned out and facilitated by many agents. However, only one is carried out when the time comes. She will have already known which one of Makarov's plans that had not lifted off, and which one already has…"

Allen was the key to victory, and she must be acquired quickly, if Makarov was to be quickly taken down before more lives were unnecessarily lost. However, he was sure that not many actually that he could trust with this piece of information, particularly when most of his officials in the Ministry of Defense was under Makarov's payroll. The counterattack on the Americans in New York had been inevitable, but he was determined to end the war, to end the senseless fighting, which no one actually knew why it had escalated, apart from the presumed American-included attack on Zakhaev International Airport. His own people called for American blood even when it was highly evident that the plan was strictly Makarov's operation, forgetting their own hurts caused by the villain, their own countryman.

"If she was really a spy after Makarov's plans, she would know him in and out," Vorshevsky added. "There will be no doubt that he will stop at nothing to end her life as well."

Pudovkin nodded at the President's last statement. "Sir, there was an Ultranationalist strike at Dharmsala, India on the Loyalist safehouse a few weeks ago before the Americans retook New York, according to the latest report. Perhaps the woman was there along with what remains of her faction?"

Vorshevsky responded in kind. "It could be. We will need to make sure that she lives long enough until our forces can get to her… peacefully." He knew that at that point, they of the 141 would already been driven to desperation, and would do almost anything to survive. With their amount of skill and their ties to the Loyalists, which had been able to garner utter sympathy from almost every other government not on good terms with Russia's, he knew that they could not be crossed, even with only three of them left.

"We will find her as soon as we land, then," Pudovkin concluded, knowing that the President would be adamant with his decision. Never before has he been swayed from the choices he made, and never will he be.

"Thank you," Vorshevsky replied with a smile and leaned back into his seat. There was much that he needed to do, and much to accomplish in the coming weeks. The wounds of war could not be easily healed, and he knew that the hurt and mistrust that resulted from it would last more than a few generations. It was because of war that his nation stood divided. There were many who still blamed the attack on Zakhaev International Airport on the Americans, although there was clearly that Makarov was heading that attack on his own accord; and if what Pudovkin had discovered was true, that Anya Allen _was_ betrayed by her own superior to Makarov, then it would mean that the late General Shepherd had a stake in that attack as well. Why would one turn against their own country and setting two of the greatest nations in open conflict?

There, the President of the Russian Federation rested in his office, clearing his mind from all the chaos that ensued, in his own cabinet, and outside Russian soil. Peace was the only way to ensure that no more of this useless folly ever occurred. It was the only way to prevent any more needless loss of life, all in the sake of the show of power and strength. Was it a trick of fate that the hypothetical key to victory lied with a woman? Did she even know that she was that key at all?

Half an hour later, he knew that he had to quiet his thoughts. It was time for him to meet with his ministers that were flying with him to Hamburg. Those who were directly heading the matter of war, and he knew that like his people, there were those among them that would prefer to see the United States of America burn for what they have done upon Russian soil.

The doors to his office opened, revealing his daughter, who was followed by some bodyguards. Those were dangerous times and he knew that Alena understood the precautionary steps that everyone had to ensure. It was for their safety, after all. "Vasili is waiting for you, Father," she told him gravely. He knew that his daughter shared the same sentiments as he did. She had told him the very moment that they were notified of the possibility of war… His daughter had lived through the Second Russian Civil War, and he remembered how afraid she had been. That was why she was his strongest supporter in his notion of peace.

Sighing, Vorshevsky said, "He's expecting an answer for me." He had known that answer, and it was not war. He would risk everything that he had in his power to stop any more of the ceaseless bloodshed. They passed by one of the plane's hallways, adorned by the portraits of Russia's presidents… every single one. He had hoped that his tenure as the president would not be as bloody as many of his predecessors', and now, he knew that what he had hoped for may not be a reality unless he could convince his own cabinet that spilling American blood cannot return Russia's former glory.

"I don't like him," Alena grumbled, knowing of Vasily's intentions clearly. He would not settle for anything less than the continuation of open war between the NATO powers and Russia. She was her father's daughter, after all.

"No one does," he reminded his daughter. "That's why he's good at his job." His impersonality was one of the sole reasons why he was so effective in carrying out his duties. He curried no favor from any party, and more importantly, he endeavored what he thought was best for his country. It was a cruel test to Vorshevsky that Zhukov actually thought that waging war against Russia's enemy was the best way to ensure the safety of his people.

"What would you tell him?" Alene asked, knowing that her conversation with her father would not go any further. They were nearing the conference room anyways.

"The truth," Vorshevsky replied, resolute in his demeanor. His daughter then told him that there was no way that Zhukov would want to hear it, and to those words, he said, "He has no choice. I'm the president." Once they were at the door of the conference room, he kissed his daughter's forehead and notified her that he would see her at dinner.

It was going to be long night, he reckoned. Once he entered the conference room, Vorshevsky was greeted by his cabinet, and worked started immediately. Once he was seated at the head of the table, he took a deep breath and regarded each and every one of them with his piercing eyes. "Gentlemen, we have only two choices: peace or war. Life or death… For the sake of our children, we must seek peace with the West."

As expected, his words did not sit well with his ministers, especially not with Zhukov. "Mr. President, now is not the time to appease our enemies," Zhukov stressed. He saw peace as a form of surrender… Peace as a way of giving up on their war effort. Zhukov needed to be led to see that peace was actually more than all those.

"We destroy our enemies when we can make friends with them," Vorshevsky reasoned, begging for his ministers to see his side of reason. "If we cannot end our differences, at least we…"

Vorshevsky was interrupted once again. "It's gunfire!" someone proclaimed, but Vorshevsky could not remember who it was. How was it possible that their plane had been hijacked?

* * *

Yuri

Loyalist/Task Force 141 – Disavowed

Cape Town, South Africa.

* * *

"Makarov will _not_ let President Vorshevsky run free," Anya told the three men around her as they pored over maps and newspaper cuttings. The television was running the news, and apparently, President Boris Vorshevsky of the Russian Federation had sought out the various leaders of the NATO nations, suing for peace.

Price rubbed his chin. Anya could be right, but he also was of the understanding that not all of Makarov's plans was privy to Anya. They could not just take the risk to fly to Hamburg to nab the devil, not when they were already in Africa, sniffing for any clues to Makarov's activities there. "What makes you so sure about that?" Price asked her.

"For one thing, he needs the nuclear launch codes from Vorshevsky," Anya counted. "Makarov no longer has enough nuclear bombs in his own arsenal. He gave one to al-Asad and we shot one into space."

It was rumored that the Russians had a nuclear payload enough to rival that of America's, and MacTavish knew if what Anya said was true, the Russian President was in greater danger than they would ever be. "But if Makarov wants to get the President, he'd have his hands on him by now, Anya," MacTavish added. "We're too damned far away from Hamburg right now, lass."

"We must hope that the President doesn't break if the worse happens," Yuri concluded. He knew that the Boris Vorshevsky was a man of strong will. If he had dared to wrestle the control of the Ultranationalist Party from Makarov's clutches, that man would be able to at least resist whatever horrors Makarov would have planned for him. He should have at least seen it coming at one point or another.

Anya remained silent in thought for a while. What they had told her was not completely baseless. They had other goals, and for the time being, the fate of the Russian President was out of their hands. "Mark my words, we're going have to bust him out of anything happens to him," she warned.

"You have a deal, sweetheart," Price told her, and gave her a low-five to seal the deal.

* * *

Andrei Harkov

Russian FSO Agent

Somewhere in Germany

* * *

They had fought the hijackers on the plane, and now when they had crash-landed, they had to fight through a stretch of forest in order to reach a proper clearing where the rescue helicopters could locate them. God knew that they had fought long and hard enough, defending their President.

"Where is my daughter?" Vorshevsky asked, looking around his surroundings frantically. "Alena!"

"She's being secured, sir," Pudovkin, the commander of the FSO answered. "We need to move you now… get the President inside!" Soon, Pudvkin spotted Harkov and barked, "Harkov, open the door!"

Harkov did not need not need Pudovkin to repeat his orders; stepping forwards, he slid the side door of the M-17 before them with all his might, discovering a man wearing well-made shoes at the door. Looking up to see who the man really was, his expression paled. Looking back at him, was a man of medium height and broad stature. He had hair as dark as the night, and more importantly, his eyes were mismatched… one was a deep emerald, and the other, a light blue.

Vladimir Makarov stood before them, his eyes stern and cold, and delivered his first shot right at Harkov, who collapsed immediately. Rapidly, more men poured out from the helicopter, killing everyone in sight. Pudovkin struggled to rise despite his injuries, but was shot in the head by Makarov.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked Vorshevsky, finally meeting the man who had usurped his position amongst the ranks of the Ultranationalists.

"Yes…" Vorshevsky replied. They had never met before, but he would never, ever forget a face like Makarov's.

"Then you know what I want," Makarov continued confidently.

Vorshevsky blinked. No one, no one with a sound mind would even dare to try to create such a cataclysm… "You're insane!" he shouted, which only managed to encourage his enemy.

"Russia will take all of Europe, even if it has to stand upon a pile of ashes," Makarov replied, slightly smirking upon sensing Vorshevsky's distress. "I want the launch codes, Mr. President."

"You'll never get them!"

Vorshevsky's effort was futile. "Every man has his weakness," Makarov said, turning to his men. "Find the girl…"


End file.
